The Unknown Victor
by frecklesncurls
Summary: The 25th Hunger Games, and the first Quarter Quell, approaches. Panem wonders what lies ahead for their tributes in this twist of their penance. In District 2, a pair of twins in their last year of eligibility await the Games, one in anticipation and the other in dread. Brea and Brannock Lockhart, each for their own reasons, hope the odds will ever be in their favor.
1. Chapter 1

One Year Ago...

The 24th Hunger Games...

The Night after District 2's Reaping...

"Again."

Brea's chin dropped to her chest. She was in hour four of training with her father and from the way things were going, it wasn't going to end anytime soon. Sweat dropped off the tip of her nose and fell in between her legs.

"Did you hear me?"

Brea nodded her head tiredly. She huffed out, "Despite you hounding me all night, my ears miraculously still work."

If Brea hadn't heard the whistle behind her, she wouldn't have ducked the training sword aimed for the back of her head. Though it couldn't cut her, Brea's body being polka-dotted with bruises proved that the heavy wooden sword could do damage.

She glared up at her father. His blonde-white hair was tied back, but a few hairs had escaped their bounds. She had inherited his hair color and his ice-blue eyes, which burned into her now.

He stated coldly, "Your tongue wouldn't be so sharp if you were strong enough to defend yourself any other way. You are so weak, Brea, and it shows."

Brea's anger fueled her to stand. Her leg muscles quaked with exhaustion, but she stood nonetheless. "If that's how you feel, I'm surprised you spend your precious time on my training."

She bowed. "I'm honored."

The next swing came too quickly for Brea to step outside of its arc. The wood slammed into her jaw, reeling her onto her back. She saw stars, but crawled for her sword she had thrown several feet away.

Her father stalked over her as she crawled, "I train you because I refuse to have a daughter unprepared for the Games. Though, in the pitiful state you're in, I hardly doubt there's any chance of you being chosen."

Brea's hand reached for her sword, but her father smacked her wrist with his blade and kicked her sword away. "Look at me when I speak to you!" he roared.

Brea growled as she flipped over onto her back, cradling her wrist. She knew it wasn't broken, but it pulsed with pain.

He leaned down and grabbed the front of her shirt, yanking her up inches from his face. "Tenth in ranking is not where a Lockhart belongs! The eligibles that were ranked above you haven't received half of the training you have!"

Brea spat, trying to hide the shake in her voice, "I'm sorry I ashamed you for placing in such a low ranking, Dad. Tenth out of hundreds is such a cop out."

Brea's father hand flew, striking her face with the heel of his sword. She cried out and he released her, her head thudding against the mat. She curled into the fetal position and awaited his next blow. None came.

"Next year is your last chance to make something of yourself, Brea. I suggest you start acting like it."

Brea heard his footsteps as he marched away. She rolled over onto her belly and screamed into the mat, punching it until her knuckles and throat were red and raw. She remained there, wishing she could melt into it and escape to a world without the Hunger Games.


	2. Chapter 2

Brea didn't realize she had fallen asleep until she was awoken by the mat shifting as someone sat next to her.

The familiar aroma of sweat and leather filled Brea's nose. She sighed, her voice muffled by the mat, "Why does he hate me, Brannock?"

Her brother shifted. "C'mon. You know how he gets after the Reaping."

"It gets worse every year."

Brannock didn't reply. After a moment, something cold and wet touched her arm. "I brought you a cold pack. Maybe I should have brought more than one."

She scoffed, turned on her side and picked up the pack gingerly. She shivered at its frigid touch.

She watched her brother's back stiffen as he saw the state of her face. She knew her jaw was swelling at the impact site and by the soreness around her eye, guessed her fair skin revealed a forming bruise. She smiled gently at her brother. Though they were twins, Brannock was the spitting image of their father, though his face softer and his eyes kinder. He had been born only two minutes before her, but from the way he watched over her, he acted like it had been two years.

She asked sarcastically, "Which one looks worse?" gesturing to the two injuries.

He silently motioned towards her jaw, his own jaw sliding to and fro as he ground his teeth. He always did that when he was angry. His voice was forcefully leveled, "Brea, he went too far this time."

Brea spat out some blood she tasted on her tongue. She realized now, as the adrenaline left her, that she had bit her tongue when she fell. It was sore as she replied, "You said it yourself. It's how he gets."

Brannock gently grazed the bruise on her eye with his thumb, inspecting it. Brea winced, his rough skin coarse against the sensitive area. Brannock retracted his hand. "I should have been here."

Brea was ready to change the subject. "How was hand-to-hand combat class?"

Brannock subliminally straightened his shoulders, a proud smile stretching across his lips. "You're looking at this year's record holder."

Brea shook her head and chuckled, "Again? Fourth year in a row, right?"

Brannock shrugged bashfully, "Who's counting?"

Brea smiled. "Way to go, brother."

Brannock stared down at his hands. His voice lowered, "With Atlas being the boys' tribute this year, I might have a shot at being next year's, Brea."

The smile fell. It was barely spoken of between the twins, but it was not unknown that Brea had a distaste for the Games. She disliked them because her father worshipped them, but loathed them because they could take her brother away from her.

Not that she doubted Brannock's ability to return a victor. He had stuck out as a contender to represent District 2 ever since he was eligible and the last three years, ranked in the top three. Combined with the fact that their father was on the Council, the elected body that chose the district's tributes, Brea had feared Brannock would be chosen. However, every year, there had always been an elder boy that was picked to enter the Games, so Brannock bid his time and trained ferociously. With each year that Brannock grew both in body and skill, Brea's trepidation at his name being called at the Reaping as the male tribute grew along with it.

"I can't wait until this is all over. When we have outgrown the Games."

Brannock raised an eyebrow. "Who is we?"

A glance was exchanged between the two. "You. Me. Panem."

Brannock leaned back. "It's hard to imagine a world without the Games."

"Maybe for you, Mr. Champion." Brea winced at the bitterness laced in her voice. Brannock was undoubtedly the favorite between the two of them, due to him being the more likely to bear the title of victor her father had won at the seventh Hunger Games.

Many years ago, Brea would go as far to say that her father liked her. However, as Brannock outgrew her and began standing out athletically, her father's attitude towards her evolved into appreciation, then tolerance. Nowadays, she caught him several times appraising her with a sneer out of the corner of her eye.

She guessed it was because she had grown to favor her mother, or so people told her. She had noticed differences between her features and her father's; an more oval face than round, fuller lips, more prominent cheek bones, but never had a face in her memories to match them with.

She had never met her mother and her father never spoke of her. It was through rumors that she learned of her: fair, quiet, and gentle. Brea and Brannock were only a few weeks away from being born when their father became a tribute for the seventh Hunger Games. If the stories were true, their mother had been driven mad by watching their father's ferocity and blood-thirst in the Games. By the time her father returned as victor, Brea and Brannock had arrived and their mother buried in an unmarked grave, a sign of utmost shame in District 2. In the eyes of the district's citizens, the loss of a sound mind held no honor. And, as her father repeated frequently throughout Brea's life, "One without honor in life was not granted the privilege of being remembered in death".

Brannock whispered gently, awaking Brea from her thoughts, "I know you don't like it, Brea, but I want to be chosen. I want to earn this." He added meekly, "I think I have a good chance at winning."

Brea sat up and spat, "And what if you're wrong and you get killed? What if I have to watch you get stabbed or drowned or bashed in the head with a brick?"

Brannock lowered his head. Brea continued, standing, "It isn't fair, Brannock! It isn't fair that they would take you from me because they want to be entertained! Because they have nothing to live for besides the next Games!"

Brannock shot to his feet, his voice changing. "Brea, stop."

She ignored him, beginning to pace. "They play it off like we're watching the Games once every year, but that's not true. We're playing their game every single day! We're lying down, belly up, and not asking why! Not taking a stand! Not refusing to bow! It's time someone did something about it!"

Brannock lunged at her and covered her mouth. Her speech caught in her throat. Brannock's smiling eyes were gone, now wide with something wild. Was it fear?

He whispered, "Look, I know you have had a rough day and you are frustrated. However, that is not an excuse to say the kind of things that are thoughtlessly spilling out of your mouth right now."

Brea regained her anger and shoved his hand away. "Who cares? Screw them!"

Brannock turned his head towards the doors, making sure they were alone. Assured that they were, he stepped close and said, his voice hushed, "Brea, you know as well as I do that the Capitol has eyes everywhere. Don't make the mistake of thinking they aren't watching...and listening. If you truly believe this is a game, then it is in your best interest to play along and not anger the ones controlling the board."


	3. Chapter 3

One Month before Ranking Day

* * *

Brea plucked the black berry off of the plate on her desk and raised it to the light. Its skin was taught, stretched by the maroon juice she knew lay inside. A twinge of hunger tempted her to toss it into her mouth, but she knew better.

"Nightlock. A wild plant that grows in forested arenas. Commonly mistaken for blueberries because of the similar shade of color. Extremely poisonous. If ingested, it will kill the consumer in a matter of seconds."

The instructor nodded. "Well done."

A voice maliciously whispered behind Brea's back, "Know-it-all."

Brea recognized the voice belonging to Rena Thornwise. She was this year's favorite for the female tribute of the Quarter Quell and Brea's enemy, both this and every year preceding.

Rena was a predator, hunting down anyone that she could devour. Strong and intimidatingly beautiful, anything she touched became hers. That power had corrupted her to the core, leaving her manipulative and ruthless. She loathed Brea because she was unconquerable.

Brea replied in the same whisper, "Wish I could say the same about you."

Brannock, sitting beside her, made eye contact with her and shook his head slightly. He knew her and Rena's history and it's dangers. Before, it had been a childish discourse, but as they had grown and learned to fight, the relationship had become more prone to violence.

It took everything in her not to jump as the voice hissed, right next to her ear, "When I come back a victor from the first Quarter Quell ever, you'll want to watch that mouth of yours when you speak to me."

Brea turned to face Rena. Everything about Rena was dark: her demeanor, hair, skin, and most of all, her eyes. Their pitch color blended in with the pupils, causing the illusion of a shark or a lion staring back at her instead of a young woman. Her jaw was sharp and her dazzlingly white teeth were bared in disdain. She was altogether beautiful and altogether dangerous, much like the Nightlock Brea had just been tested on.

Brea, in faux innocence, stated, "You are awfully confident you will be chosen, Rena. I'd hate to see you be disappointed."

Rena scoffed, "And who says I will be? You think you have a better shot than me?"

The thought made Brea crack a smile. She knew she didn't, but for Rena's sake, she answered smoothly, "The odds are ever in my favor."

Rena yanked Brea's long braid so suddenly and hard, Brea's head banged against Rena's desk. As Rena laughed ruefully, Brea grabbed the textbook on her desk and used it to smack Rena's face. A satisfying crack from her nose followed after the impact.

Rena howled, but wasted no time to pounce on Brea. It only took a few moments for Brannock and the instructor to separate the two, but it was enough time for Rena to land two jabs into Brea's gut and for the blood, flowing from her nose, to smear all over Brea.

The instructor yelled, as she struggled to keep Rena off of Brea, "Girls! Save it for combat class!"

Rena screamed, "She broke my nose! How am I going to go on national television looking like this?"

Brea snaked a hand out of Brannock's grasp, grabbed a handful of red berries from her desk, and pelted Rena with them. "Eat a few of these, Rena dear. You'll swell up so big, no one will notice your nose."

The instructor tightened her grip around Rena just in time, preventing another attack as her captor lunged forward. "That's enough, Miss Lockhart. Rena, the nurses at the infirmary will be able to set and heal your nose before the Reaping, I assure you. In fact, let's go see them now before you bleed all over my classroom."

Rena yelled as she was escorted out of the room, her voice congested with blood, "Watch your back, Lockhart! Your victor daddy can't protect you from what I will do to you!"

"Talk to me when your nose isn't flat against your face!" Brea shouted after her.

Brannock spoke behind her, "You should think before you go starting fights, Brea."

Whipping around to face him, Brea retorted, "Excuse me? I didn't start that!"

"You didn't deescalate it either."

Brea opened her mouth, but was stopped short. A truth dawned on her and she was stunned by it. Stepping into his face, she whispered, "You're betting on her being in the arena with you, aren't you?"

Brannock's mouth shut tight, though his face so plainly read the truth, it could have spoken for him.

Brea shook her head in disbelief. "I can't believe you. She was the one who insulted and attacked me, yet you just stood by because you didn't want to wreck any potential for a future alliance!"

He bristled. "You're acting like this isn't something eligibles do all the time, Brea, especially highly-ranked ones."

Brea countered, "It's ridiculous!"

His face hardened, "No, it's strategy! It's how these things work!"

Brea was yelling now. "So, what? I'm supposed to be okay with y-your betrayal? Because it's 'how things are done'?"

Brannock's lips pressed together and didn't release another word.

Brea was aghast at his rationalization. Her brother had always been her protector, the quiet presence that calmed her and shielded her from the world that had shown her little love. Even when he challenged her and chastised her for her rash behavior, she knew that he was on her side.

The Games were changing that. Changing him.

Brea whispered menacingly, her voice thick with emotion, "I'm sorry that your outlook is so skewed that my welfare has fallen below that of Rena Thornwise. Before, I thought the Games were just a goal, maybe even a slight obsession, for you. Now, I see that you have let them take you over, just like Dad."

Brannock winced at the jab. Brea's anger was fueled by it. She tossed over her shoulder, not caring who heard as she stomped away, "How much more will you let these Games dictate your life, Brannock?"


	4. Chapter 4

Two Weeks before Ranking Day

* * *

The training arena was always packed with eligibles and their parents the last few weeks before Ranking Day, but with this year being the first Quarter Quell, it had been packed for months. Everyone wanted to become District 2's first victor in a Quarter Quell and the tension, due to this, reared its ugly head. Fights broke out, bones were broken, rumors started, anything that could be done to make one get ahead was not out of the question.

Brea found it all disgusting. However, she dove head-first into the madness of the training arena. She was the earliest to arrive and the last to leave. She worked harder and longer than she had ever had and achieved personal records in nearly every testing area.

She knew people thought it was due to a last ditch effort to rank in the top three, but she didn't care. They didn't know that even the training arena was peaceful compared to her home.

Her father's behavior had become manic in the last few months. Brea didn't see him stay still for more than a few seconds and he never sat down. If he wasn't lecturing her or coaching Brannock, he was pacing in his study, sometimes muttering to himself. She knew that her father's behavior was always erratic around the Games, but this first Quarter Quell intensified and lengthened it. She could tell he wasn't getting much sleep and was eating even less. Despite her resentment towards the Games and its hold over her father, she pitied him.

Pity, however, only sustained a person so far, so she found herself at the training arena for several hours every day.

The arena was designed by retired Gamemakers. Along with standard weapons, it also included a replica of every weapon that had made an appearance in previous Games, each of which her father made sure she and Brannock were studied in. There was even a simulation arena that could replicate previous Games designs. Stations were littered around the training arena for foraging, camouflage, fire-building, anything that could be of use in the Games.

While Brannock benefited from the physical training at the arena, neither was Brea's affinity for intelligence neglected. Even though she was one of the better dagger-throwers of the eligibles, she still preferred the intelligence tests and problem-solving scenarios the arena had to offer. This didn't exhibit itself only in the arena, but also in school. She had received top marks for as long as she could remember, causing her to stand out as a future Peacekeeper candidate. Brea abhorred the idea, secretly wanting to become a Council member for District 2. The thought of ranking children for the Games every year made her sick, but a place of democratic influence seemed the only place she would be able to make impactful good.

A taped hand tapped her on the shoulder. She turned to see a cloud of bright red hair and twinkling hazel eyes. Brea smiled.

Tip was Brea's closest friend in District 2. Her dream was to become a skilled stone mason like her father, so she always had a light dusting of whatever stone they had been working on in her hair. When the specks would catch the light, they shimmered, causing her to look other-worldly. She was an age below Brea, but they got along as if they had been together their entire lives.

Brea ran a hand through a curl of her friend's wild hair and rubbed her fingers together, inspecting the dust. "Marble?"

Her friend revealed a brilliant smile and nodded. "Wanting to build some last-minute muscle?" she said, motioning towards the weights.

Brea gave her a knowing look.

"Ah. The time of year where everyone's home lives are hectic is upon us."

"Everyone's isn't like mine, Tip. You've only seen glimmers of my dad around this time. It goes beyond discussing the Games all the time and making bets on who the tributes will be. Anything you have witnessed outside of our home is extremely watered-down from what he's like inside it."

Tip continued wrapping her hands with the binding. "Oh, I believe it. Even outside of Games season, I don't think I have ever seen that man smile, Brea."

Brea shook her head as she continued lifting. "Yeah, me neither."

Tip eyed her friend. "Excited for rank testing next week?"

Every year, District 2 would participate in ranking their children eligible to be in the Hunger Games, aged twelve to eighteen. Similar to the scoring of Hunger Games tributes, each child would exhibit their strongest skill before the Council and the top hundred would be given a rank. One of the top three for the girls and boys were the most likely to be picked by the Council to represent the district in the Hunger Games.

Typically, the rank testing wouldn't start for another month, but being the year of the Quarter Quell moved up the testing to two weeks from now. Brea had managed to hold a spot in the top twenty the past few years, last year making it to the top ten. She credited it all to her father's ruthless training.

Brea finished the rep and dropped the weights. "Excited for them to be over and for everyone to move on."

Tip laughed. Her laugh was one of her best qualities. There was nothing cynical in it, as Brea's had a tendency to be. It was light, unassuming, and given freely. "What, you aren't swept away by the glory of the Games?"

"Maybe I'd be more into it if I had a chance of participating in them." She nodded her head over at Rena, who was sparring with a couple of girls on the other side of the arena. The bright white bandage gracing her nose made Brea grin. "Some of us can't wait to get blood on our hands."

Tip smiled knowingly. "You know, I heard some whisperings that you got some blood on your hands not so long ago."

Brea grimaced. She could still remember the metallic smell of Rena's blood on her body after their fight. She had nearly scrubbed her skin off when she took a shower that night, ridding herself of any reminder of Rena. "That was so gross."

Tip giggled, "You know, back to earlier, being in the top ten isn't anything to sneeze at. Even if it doesn't get you to the Games, it'll give you a leg up when you choose a career. I'm lucky I'm in the top twenty."

Brea shook her head admiringly. Another one of Tip's shining qualities was her optimism.

Tip scanned the room as Brea did another set of lifting weights. "I'm surprised Brannock isn't here", Tip stated with a slightly disappointed tone.

Brea's mouth thinned into a line. Her brother and she had hardly spoken for weeks. They crossed paths many times, but each were silent, hardly acknowledging each other. The weight of their unresolved arguments and differing views was borne by each and neither relieved themselves of the load. She huffed out, "He's with his private instructor. Dad pulled all the stops this year."

Tip gave a low whistle. Private instructors weren't cheap in District 2, especially during Games season. "He really wants you guys to carry on that victor legacy, huh?"

Brea sardonically chuckled. "Tip, look where I am and look where he is. My father has made it clear who he expects to carry on his legacy."


	5. Chapter 5

The friends parted to train separately. Brea glistened with sweat when Tip returned from boxing. "Wanna spar?"

Brea shrugged. "Sure."

They walked over to the sparring mat and while waiting their turn, observed the other sparring partners.

The pairs ranged in size, age, and skill. The smaller children tended to just want to play around while the elder children were strategic, their years of training evident in their studied maneuvers and counterattacks.

Brea was able to hold her own in sparring, having height and a low center of gravity on her side, but there were a few people who had seen her spar enough to know her weaknesses. Tip was one of those people.

When it was Tip and Brea's turn, they stepped onto opposite ends of the mat and faced each other. Brea was aware that dozens of eyes were on them as they prepared to start. The rules were simple: once feet touched the mat, the sparring match began, going on until it ended.

As Brea tentatively stepped onto the mat, Tip charged at full speed.

Brea smiled. She saw Tip's thinking: to counteract the advantage of Brea's height against her own, Tip knew if she could knock Brea off balance, her chances grew exponentially.

However, Brea knew the move wouldn't work. Even at full speed, Tip's light frame wouldn't move her, especially with Brea seeing her coming. She deflected Tip's momentum by crossing her arms over her chest and shoving Tip aside. Then, Brea used that momentum to turn with her and bring her down to the mat.

Before Brea could pin her down, Tip lifted her hips off the ground and rolled Brea off of her. She then mounted her and tried to press her forearm into Brea's carotid to make her pass out. Brea was able to push away the offense by striking Tip in the sternum with enough force to drive out air from her lungs.

As Tip tried to regain her breath, Brea flipped her friend onto her back and reached her arm around Tip's neck from behind, mimicking her earlier move. Tip wiggled, trying to slip out of Brea's hold, but was unsuccessful. Brea felt her friend's movements become sluggish. If she didn't tap out soon, she'd pass out. After a few more moments of fruitless struggling, Tip hurriedly slapped her hand on Brea's forearm.

Brea released her and Tip gasped for air. The crowd applauded the well-matched pair.

Tip regained her lighthearted composure after a few breaths. "You are something else, Brea Lockhart. You used my own move against me."

Brea shrugged nonchalantly, but her smile was smug.

Tip rubbed her chest, wincing at where the heel of Brea's hand had hit her. "You're going to have to teach me that move later on."

Brea laughed, as she helped her friend to her feet, "So you can use it on me later? No thanks."

An antagonistic voice called out behind her, "You sure took your time with that fight, Lockhart. I could have finished that match in ten less moves."

Brea rolled her eyes and faced Rena, standing behind her. She was accompanied by three other girls their age, all ranked in the top twenty.

Motioning to the bandage on Rena's nose, Brea said, "I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you. Your nose is covering your mouth."

Rena's hand flew to her nose instinctively, but she lowered it just as quickly. "I told you that I was coming for you. And I'm here. Let's spar."

Brea didn't like the glow of fury in Rena's eyes, but figured humiliation was the only way to shut her up. "Fine."

Tip grabbed her arm as Rena sauntered to the other end of the mat. "I don't think this is a good idea. You know Rena doesn't play nice. What if she hurts you?"

Brea shrugged off the hand. "I'll let her get a move or two in, just so she feels like she got her payback. Then, I'll send her to the mat."

Tip grimaced. "If something goes down, I'll be right here, okay?"

"What would I do without you?" Brea winked.

She stepped up to the edge of the mat, eyeing her opponent. Rena was swaying, her eyes fixed on Brea. She was equal in height with Brea, but broader. The thick muscle in her thighs were straining, waiting to be released. Her arms flexed as she curled her hands into fists. Brea knew the initial few seconds would be crucial in taking her down, for Rena did not tire quickly. She tensed.

Rena shot onto the mat and sprinted towards Brea. Crossing her arms over her chest, Brea acted as if to attempt the same move she had used on Tip. Then, when Rena was almost upon her, Brea rolled to the side, barely dodging her.

In a stroke of luck, Rena was unable to stop quick enough and slid to the mat. Brea saw her window and sprawled onto her opponent.

Before she was able to latch onto Rena by gripping her torso with her legs, Rena yanked Brea off of her and stood. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a knife.

Tip began to step forward, but Rena's cronies overtook her, reigning her back onto the sidelines. The crowd booed, but no one made an attempt to get in between Rena and her prey.

Rena raised the knife, waving the point towards Brea. "I'm going to hack off that braid of yours and carry it as my token into the Games, Lockhart."

Brea kept her eyes on the knife. "Sneaking weapons into a sparring match, Rena? I knew you weren't imaginative, but even this seems a bit archaic for you."

Rena tauntingly moved the knife back and forth. "Try to take it from me then."

Brea evaluated her options. She knew Rena better than to believe she would just use that blade to cut her hair. Rena was thirsty for blood. Her blood.

Even so, there was an unspoken code in District 2 that no matter what, one didn't walk away from a fight until there was a winner and a loser. Brea wished she didn't care, but she knew she did. Respect and honor were the core of District 2. If one didn't have it, they weren't worth remembering.

She slowly stepped forward. "Since you asked."

Rena smiled wickedly.

Brea kept an eye on the knife as she inched forward. The two girls were slowly rotating and now, the training area was silent, all eyes on them. Brea breathed.

Rena's arm lashed out towards Brea's chest. Brea backed away, but not before the tip of the blade sliced the front of her shirt and her skin. Brea winced, knowing the wound was not deep enough to be worrisome, but enough to be uncomfortable.

Rena's eyes were triumphant and blood-mongering. She eyed the blade, then flicked her eyes to Brea as she licked her blood off the metal.

Brea sneered and regained her footing, ready for another assault. If she was going to end this, she needed to use Rena's animosity to her advantage.

She grabbed the tail of her braid and shook it in front of her face. "Come and get it, Rena."

Rena roared as she thrust the knife towards Brea. Brea was ready this time, lunging to the side and tripping Rena with her foot. Rena rolled as she fell, making sure she didn't fall on her own blade. Brea stomped on Rena's elbow, pinning her arm to the ground. She grabbed her wrist and banged it on the floor. When Rena didn't release her grip, she did it again. Harder. Then again. Then again.

"Rena, let it go."

Rena spat in her face in reply, reaching for Brea's braid to pull her off. Brea dodged the advance and dug her knee into Rena's chest. Rena cried out.

Brea growled, as she wiped at the saliva, "Listen, let the blade go or I am going to snap your wrist in half and ensure you don't go anywhere near the Games."

Rena paused. Her face twisted into fury as she screamed and released the blade. Brea kicked it away before releasing her.

Brea stood and, noticing the crowd remained silent, turned towards them. They had split into two and stared towards the middle where her father and the rest of the Council stood, watching her.


	6. Chapter 6

"This is the calmest I have ever seen Dad during a Games season."

Brea nodded, agreeing. After the sparring match with Rena, she had fully expected her father to tear into her about how reckless she was and how she had embarrassed him in front of the Council, but he had been eerily silent on the way home. She had hoped he was so furious with her that he refused to speak to her, but instead of the silence being heavy with unspoken malice, it was weighted with a busy mind. The sudden shift in behavior and unexpected reaction made her uneasy.

"I know. You should have seen the way he was looking at me at the arena, Brannock. It was like he was relieved." She attempted to lighten her mind with jokingly adding, "Maybe he had thought his training was wasted on me."

Brannock shook his head. "From what I heard, it doesn't sound like it." He smiled, "I'm surprised you didn't slice off Rena's hair since she tried to do it to you."

"I think I've had enough slicing for one day," Brea said as she applied more salve on her chest. She knew the wound would be healed in the morning, but now, it stung.

Brannock handed her a thick bandage, which she placed over the gash, then wiped the salve off of her hands with what remained of her torn shirt. She grimaced, holding it up in front of her and evaluating the tear. She wasn't typically invested in the clothes she wore, but acknowledged that it had been one of her favorites. Luckily, Rena hadn't also ruined her tank underneath or Brea might have decided to use the blade after all.

"You're lucky that knife sliced your shirt and not your throat." Brannock added.

"I did think about it," she mused. "Cutting her hair, I mean. Figured I'd end up paying for it by not seeing the knife coming next time."

Brannock gave her a congratulatory smack on the back. "You, Brea Lockhart, held back an impulse? I'm so proud! My hard work is finally showing some results!" He winked.

She playfully shoved him away. "Shut up and hand me that shirt over there."

He tossed it to her. "You've had all sorts of luck today. Rena didn't kill you and the Council picked today to come evaluate eligibles at the arena."

Brea turned to her brother. Did she detect a hint of jealousy in his voice?

"How is the Council being there good for me? If anything, I think it'd be unlucky."

"The Council witnessed you win a sparring match against someone above your weight class, above your ranking, and wielding a weapon no less. That's something they might take into consideration on Ranking Day."

Brea scoffed, "Yeah, right. We don't have to do rank testing to know who is going to sit in those top three positions and that I won't be in any of them."

"I don't know, Brea. The Council doesn't always make decisions that we see coming-"

Brea cut him off sharply, "Brannock, why would you even want me to be ranked in the top three? That puts me in danger of being chosen as the female tribute. You're basically the male tribute already, right? You know there can only be one victor."

He nodded slowly. "Yeah, but if Rena was chosen then you'd have a really good chance at becoming a Peacekeeper or even working in the Capitol."

Brea rolled her eyes. "Brannock, you know me better than that."

"All I'm saying is-"

"Brannock, I understand you're trying to give me a compliment, but the last place I want to be is in the running for the Games. What happened today was to put Rena in her place, that's it. Everyone will forget it happened and everything will turn out as we all expect it to."

Brannock was quiet, but she could hear the gears grinding in his head. Brea refused to entertain the idea that she would be in the running to be tribute. She already struggled enough with accepting that Brannock would be.

"Hey," her voice softened, "Sorry."

Brannock shrugged, noncommittally accepting her apology.

She sighed, aware of the distance that the Games were creating between her and her brother. She and Brannock hardly ever argued with each other growing up and had been each other's confidants. There had been no struggle or thought that passed one of their minds that wasn't shared with the other. While Brea dared to push Brannock's comfort zones, he was the one that reeled her back when she was toeing trouble. They balanced each other out, tailoring to each other's strengths and weaknesses.

However, once they became eligible, the division began. At first, it was slow, hardly recognizable and easily dismissed. Now, in their last year of eligibility, moments of comradery seemed rarer than the back-and-forths, especially when the Games were involved in the conversation.

Eyeing her brother, she reflected on how angry she had been the last few months as the Games were mentioned more and more frequently. She hated herself for it. She didn't like who she became when the Games were brought up and that she was so swayed by them. She knew this anger came from not only the Games' gruesome injustice, but also how they had also so easily manipulated her brother and father.

A painful truth bubbled to the surface of her mind, causing a tight pain in her chest: she had thought herself above the Games' influence, unlike her brother and father, but in reality, she was just as susceptible to the Games', and through them the Capitol's, power as they.

She grit her teeth resolutely. She refused to allow the Games to take captive of her life. While she would always loathe them, she would not allow that hatred to seep in anywhere else. She concluded that the Games needed to hurry up and be over with before it destroyed her family for good.


	7. Chapter 7

Ranking Day

* * *

Rows of ten chairs seemed to stretch endlessly from where Brea sat. The eligibles were organized by their previous year's ranking. Those that fell below the top hundred and all of the first-year eligibles were in the back, sorted alphabetically. The Council would begin with them, then work up to the first ranked. The Council would evaluate each eligible child on the skills they exhibited, then announce the results that night, along with the announcement of the Quarter Quell. It was a day of celebration for Panem, but especially for District 2. Even more so, a day of anticipation for the eligible candidates.

Brea hadn't slept the night before, like most of the eligibles. However, instead of being kept awake by excitement, it was dread that refused to let her escape into sleep. Dread not for the results of her ranking, but for Brannock's.

These last few months, he had, all the more, separated himself from the rest of the group as the clear choice to be District 2's male tribute. He excelled even more so in the last few weeks and people were taking notice. She had overheard several conversations discussing his skill and even heard others referring to him as this year's male tribute.

Now, Brannock sat in the second slot, Brea the tenth, and Tip the nineteenth. A several hour stretch laid in front of them as they awaited their turn to go before the Council.

She spent the time watching the eligibles as they nervously tread or eagerly marched up to the door at the front of the room when their names were called.

Seeing the small statures and shaking legs of the first-years brought her back to her first Ranking Day. She had been so nervous, she had vomited onto her shoes right in front of the Council. Then, when she tried to throw her first dagger, she slipped and fell onto her back. As the Peacekeeper escorted her out of the room, she had seen the fury in her father's face and had tried, and failed, to hide from him that night. He hadn't let her eat for days after that.

Feeling sick from the dark memory, Brea switched her thoughts over to Brannock. Brea was seated at the end of the first row, having to lean forward to see him at the other end.

The last few days he had reverted from his usual friendly personality into a concentrated silence. He emanated excitement, anticipation, anxiety, and thoughtfulness. Though he didn't say a word, Brea understood there was a cacophony of thoughts rushing through his head.

Now, he stared intently at the floor, his hands clasped, and a knee bouncing. Brea knew that Brannock could feel his destiny of being District 2's male tribute lying before him. Brea knew it was as good as fact that he would be. He eagerly awaited to meet it head on and Brea apprehensively awaited its impending arrival.

Her body must have shown her thoughts because when Tip snuck out of her chair to come squat in front of Brea, her brows were knit in concern. "Nervous?"

"Brannock."

Tip grabbed her friend's hands and rubbed her thumbs over them consolingly. "Brannock is the most prepared eligible I have ever seen, Brea. If anyone could win the Games based on look and skill alone, he'd be on the Victory Tour as we speak."

Brea cracked a half-smile. "You haven't seen any of the other tributes, Tip. They might be bigger and better."

She squeezed Brea's hands, adamantly replying, "Then Brannock will fight harder. You are the most important thing in his life, Brea. He won't give up coming back to you easily."

Brea slyly looked to her friend. "You know, I've noticed I'm not the only one Brannock might want to come back to. You two have been eyeing each other for months now, acting like no one sees you. Have something you want to share?"

Tip's smile fell instantly and her cheeks flushed. Her hands flew out of Brea's like they were on fire. "Brea...I was going to tell you..."

"Has he proposed marriage yet?" Brea winked.

Tip's laugh was a release of worry, rushing out in a wind of relief. "Now you're just being mean."

Brea continued jokingly, "I need details. Well, not every detail. Actually, just give me a very general summary."

Tip looked around her and whispered, "You really want to hear this now? Don't you need to be focused? This is your last Ranking Day."

"Anything that can get my mind off of today is the best place my mind can be."

Tip evaluated her friend for a moment, then sighed happily. "Well, there really isn't much to tell. You know you and I have always gotten along well and oftentimes, when we would play, Brannock was around too. Back then, he was just a playmate, another player for our games. It wasn't until our first year of eligibility that I realized if one of us was chosen to go to the Games, we'd be separated. Back then, probably for forever. That knowledge broke my heart and I knew then that I wanted the rest of my life spent with him. Of course, it took until this year for me to suspect that he felt the same way. Ever since, we've just slowly gravitated towards each other."

Brea laughed, but there was a hollowness to it. She had thought for several years that she would like to see Tip and Brannock, her two favorite people in Panem, together. Now that their relationship was in the early stages of blossoming, Brannock was unofficially District 2's tribute and would, in all likelihood, be leaving for the Games. It was unfair.

She reached out and retook Tip's hands, grasping them tightly. She mustered every ounce of energy she had to say the words she knew Tip needed to hear from her, the ones she wished she believed to be true. "You're right. He will win and he will come back to us."

Tip's mouth broke out into a quivering smile. Her forehead rested on their clasped hands and her shoulders relaxed, as if Brea's words were a balm on her soul. Tears wet the backs of Brea's hands. Then, Tip's name was called.

Brea squeezed her hands silently before letting them go. Tip whispered, as she stood, "See you on the other side."

Brea watched her friend walk towards the door at front of the room. She paused to look back at Brannock. Brea watched him smile at her friend, who returned it. Brannock mouthed, "Good luck". Tip's shoulders straightened with new strength and she walked through the door.

As it closed behind her, the warmth Brea had exuded for her friend left with her exit, leaving an empty chill. She mulled over the news of Tip and Brannock's relationship. It made Brannock's inevitable nomination all the more painful. Brea imagined sitting next to her friend, gripping hands as they stared up at a screen, watching Brannock fight the other tributes. The sound of a cannon firing and the image of Brannock's bloodied face flashed in her mind.

"Brea Lockhart."

Brea's head jerked up. A Peacekeeper stood in the doorway and, though she couldn't see them through the helmet, knew their eyes were fixed on her.

Brea felt the weight of Brannock's eyes on her as well, but she refused to meet them. They hadn't talked to each other for weeks, so Brea stubbornly decided the talking wouldn't start now.

She stood. It was her turn.


	8. Chapter 8

Brea walked into the room with her back straight and head held high. The arena was clear of all the training equipment, save for the weapons and targets the eligibles could use to demonstrate their chosen skill. The hum of the Council talking amongst themselves bounced off of the walls, sourcing from the balcony above the arena, in which they sat. Brea aimed her eyes on the six daggers lying on a table in the middle of the room, resisting the urge to search for her father among the Council members as she marched forward. She wanted to get this over with and escape the cold room.

Brea tossed each of the daggers in the air, testing their weight in her hand as she smoothly caught them at the handle. Their lengths and designs varied, but all were perfectly balanced and, from the sound they made as they spun in the air, wickedly sharp.

She eyed the target twenty yards away. It was a large cork board with the outline of a child on its surface. Human-shaped targets were common in the training arena, but the smallness of the outline's stature made her feel ill. Dozens of gashes were spattered across the corkboard, only a few meeting the central marks: forehead, heart and torso.

She breathed, closing her eyes as she tossed the first dagger up in the air. Just as she was about to catch and throw it, a familiar voice above her called out.

"Wait."

The word echoed throughout the arena. Brea's eyes snapped open and she caught the dagger just before it sliced her head. She hissed, realizing she'd caught it by the blade, but ignored the pain as she searched for the speaker. Her father was the only Council member standing, his eyes on her. Once he saw he had Brea's attention, he switched his gaze to the Peacekeeper and nodded curtly.

Brea was thrown off guard. She had never been interrupted before in testing and had never heard of it being done to any other eligible. She followed her father's gaze to the door as the Peacekeeper exited through it. A moment later, the Peacekeeper entered, escorting Brannock in with them.

Brea met her brother's eyes, seeing her confusion mirrored on his face. The Peacekeeper stopped at the doorway and whispered into Brannock's ear.

Brannock's face fell into shock. He switched his gaze between the Peacekeeper, Brea, and their father for a moment, then dazedly stepped forward. A shove from the Peacekeeper quickened his pace.

All pent-up anger with her brother subsided. Brea began to meet him halfway when he shot her a hard look, telling her to stay put. The look hurt, but Brea wanted answers. When he came close enough, she whispered, "What's going on, Brannock?"

He didn't answer as he walked faster past her, stopping in front of the target.

Brea turned back to her father. If Brannock wouldn't speak to her, she'd find answers somewhere else.

"What's going on?" She cringed at how small her voice sounded in the large room.

Her father's face was emotionless. "You can now exhibit your skill for the Council."

Brea struggled to not flavor her voice with the frustration she felt, "I don't understand."

He sat. There was no reply.

Brea turned to Brannock. He had backed up until he was pressed against the corkboard. His eyes were trained on her, sending her a message she could not understand.

Then, it dawned on her. Brea felt her face blanche and the twinge of nausea she felt became a very precarious reality. They wanted her to throw the daggers with her brother on the board.

She shook her head. This wasn't right. Why was her father doing this to her? Was this a ploy of his to ensure her failure? Or was this a decision that went above him?

She searched for a loophole, hunting for a way out for her and Brannock. Brea knew she was skilled enough, but having Brannock staring back at her as she aimed daggers his way would get to her head. Even now, her hands shook at the thought of it. If she missed, even by inches, she could kill her brother. Her hand being slick with blood didn't help their chances either.

"Brea." Her brother's whisper carried to her.

She couldn't look at him. Her hands shook harder. Her breathing quickened and shallowed. Tears blurred her vision.

"Brea. You can do it." His voice was comforting, giving her permission to do as they said. Telling her it was okay. To comply. To obey.

She roared as she snatched up the daggers with her left hand and hurled them all at once at a dummy twenty yards away to her right. They all thudded deep into the fabric, clustering in the center of the dummy's chest.

She met eyes with the Peacekeeper, who began to run towards her. She sprinted to her brother and wrapped her arms around him. She didn't know what her small rebellion would cost her, but whatever awaited her, she wouldn't be meet it before she made things right with Brannock.

Brannock's voice shook with adrenaline and nerves. "You shouldn't have done that, Brea."

She laughed, breathless, "If I had a dollar for every time you told me that, I'd be richer than the Capitol." She gripped him harder, tears running down her face. "I couldn't do it, Bran. Not to you. Not for him."

Brannock pulled her away and met her eyes. His eyes scanned over her face, searching it. She knew he was weighing a decision in his mind and looking for the answer in her face. Then, when his jaw became set, Brea knew he had made his decision.

He whispered, "Run."

She froze, unable to process the words, but was forced to move as Brannock shoved her aside to throw a punch at the approaching Peacekeeper. "Run, Brea!" He yelled, taking the Peacekeeper to the ground.

She clambered onto her feet and dashed for the door she had entered. As she neared her exit, she looked over her shoulder to find her father, to see his face maybe for the last time. He was standing, casually leaning on the front railing, a smile etched on his lips as he watched her go.

Before Brea could wonder at the strange reaction, she slammed into a waiting wall of Peacekeepers, knocking the breath out of her. The Peacekeeper that caught her wrapped their hands tightly around her arms. She struggled against the hold, waivering when the buzz of electricity and the smell of charged air filled her nostrils. Brea saw the live end of a long taser rod out of the corner of her eye, which one of the Peacekeepers bore. This Peacekeeper wasn't wearing a helmet, so Brea could see the coldness in her eyes. "Stop resisting."

"Up yours." Brea answered as she slammed her head into the Peacekeeper's.

The Peacekeeper stumbled back, but recovered quickly. The taser end jammed into her side. Brea's muscles locked up and she was let go, dropping to the ground.

The Peacekeeper removed the taser end for a moment to spit blood from her mouth. The charge buzzed louder and higher as the power was cranked up. The Peacekeeper revealed her blood-stained teeth as she smiled down at Brea and dug the end into her side again, this time piercing the skin.

Brea cried out, her body convulsing as the electricity rushed through her. A metallic taste overwhelmed her and the rancid smell of burning flesh seemed to shroud her. The Peacekeeper leaned in, the prongs driving in deeper. "This is where rebelling gets you, child. In the dirt, where you belong."

The last thing Brea saw before her eyes went dark was Brannock encircled by five Peacekeepers, batons raised.


	9. Chapter 9

Brea awoke with a start as she felt frigid water falling on her, then groaned as her body ached at the jerking movement.

Blinking, her father came into view. Her head felt too heavy to lift, but she managed to survey her surroundings enough to know she was lying on the floor of their shower at home. She opened her mouth to ask an avalanche of questions, but her father cut her off before she could begin. "Wash up. The Quarter Quell announcement will be on soon."

Brea's body creaked as she crawled onto her knees. Her father had cruelly left the cold water running over her, so she shivered as she reached out to change its temperature.

As it heated, she peeled off her clothes. She sneered at the singe mark where the taser had met the fabric and the two burn marks in her skin underneath it. The prongs has stabbed her and cauterized the wound with the electric heat. She considered slathering it with salve to eradicate it, but decided against it. She inspected her body for other injuries, but only found forming bruises.

She entered into the main area of her home after cleaning up and found Brannock lying on the couch in front of the television, his eyes closed and arms crossed over the chest. His face was pale, causing the bruises all over his swollen face to stand out all the more. Her stomach plummeted as she rushed over to him and kneeled behind him, shaking him. "Brannock! Brannock!"

He started awake and she fell back onto her heels in relief. He grumbled, with a small smile on his face, "I'm not dead, Brea."

She laughed with relief, then halted after her ribs begged her to stop. "You could have fooled me. You look awful."

"The Peacekeepers didn't appreciate me putting up a fight."

"Yeah, same here." Her smile then fell as she leaned in and whispered, "Brannock, what's going on? Why are we home?"

He slowly sat up, grunting along the way. His body must have been as sore as hers. "I don't know. Dad hasn't said much since I came to."

"You two are under house arrest, for the time being." Her father spoke behind them.

They simultaneously turned towards him and in unison, moaned quietly. Brea asked, through gritted teeth to bite back her body pain, "Why aren't we dead?"

"Having your father on District 2's Council has several benefits, Brea." He stated flatly, "One of those includes having some influence in your and your brother's sentencing."

Brannock spoke softly, "Thank you."

When her father met Brannock's eyes, they were hard and unforgiving. It was the first time Brea saw her father aim his animosity towards her brother and though it wasn't aimed towards her, she wanted to shrink under the intense gaze. However, Brannock held it steadily as a silent conversation was exchanged between them of disapproval and defiance.

Brea slid her hand in Brannock's and held it, offering silent support against her father's rage. She had forgotten how relaxing it felt for his hand to envelope hers.

Brea knew Brannock aiding her sealed his fate as being on the Council's bad side, thus ruining his chances to go to the Games. He traded his dreams of becoming a victor for whatever lied ahead for them and their relationship with the Council. His sign of loyalty to her was a costly one, one Brea believed would continue requiring payment. Brea doubted their decision's punishment would be fulfilled by house arrest alone.

The television broadcast broke the tension as a distinctly Capitol-accented voice proclaimed, "Today was District 2's annual ranking, which is used to help determine who will represent their district in the Hunger Games! We shall reveal those results in just a few moments!"

The family's heads all snapped towards the television. Brea and Brannock's hands remained connected.

The other announcer, doused in rose-pink from hair to nails, and probably to her toes, continued, "The results of the top hundred rankings will roll down our screen after tonight's programming. However, we will announce the top three for the boys and girls, who have the strongest likelihood of making history by participating in the first Quarter Quell! Firstly, though, we will tune in to the live broadcast of our own Panem's president, declaring the twist of this year's Hunger Games and the first Quarter Quell!"

The president's speech began with reiterating the history of the Hunger Games and how its founders decided that every twenty-five years would bring a Quarter Quell, in which the choosing method of the tributes would be altered in remembrance of the districts' defeat against the Capitol.

The president then turned to a small box that had been hidden behind him. The box's outside was old and worn, showing its age. He pulled out of it a small, yellow envelope, opened it, and read, "As a reminder to the rebels that the Hunger Games is a product of their disobedience, the citizens of each district must vote on who will compete in the 25th Hunger Games."

The rest of the speech was tuned out by Brea, who reflected on the news. If choosing the tributes was in the hands of the districts, that meant that Brannock's chances of not being chosen slightly increased. She knew he was popular, but the district could be convinced to choose someone else. It was a sliver of a hope, but it was something.

She was torn out of her thoughts by the broadcast cutting back to the first announcer, covered in shimmering glitter. "Wow! I am shocked! That is quite a turn of events, isn't it?"

"That is bound to bring out some interesting characters, I have no doubt. Now, let's announce those top-ranked in District 2! This might help their citizens decide on who to vote for, don't you think?"

"Oh, certainly! I'm sure they are dying to hear the results!" He slowly unfolded his paper and flourished it for dramatic effect. "First, we will read the boys, from third to first. The names of the lucky eligibles are..."

"...Theo Yung, Dom Lornehurst, and Brannock Lockhart!"

Brannock's grip tightened in Brea's hand. They watched in slack-jaw silence as they watched camera's pan over the crowd in District 2's city square, celebrating the Council's ranking. Brea could faintly hear them from their home.

"Oh, but let's not forget the girls! Also being called from third to first, we have..."

"...Valora Tripst, Rena Thornwise, and Brea Lockhart!"

Brea shot up onto her feet, then collapsed back onto the couch as her legs refused to hold her and blood rushed to her head. Her breathing was shallow and without the warmth of her brother's hand, she felt as if she was adrift in a dream.

"For the first time in ranking history, we have siblings both in the top-ranked positions! I knew this would be a special year, but it just keeps getting more and more exciting!"

A vase was hurled into the television's screen, shattering both it and the vase. Sparks flew and electricity buzzed, then all was silent.

Brannock and her father broke their gazes from the screen to Brea. Her breathing was heavy and her hands shook. The room spun. She didn't know what to do or how to process what she had heard. Her tongue was heavy with words of white-hot anger, confusion, and fear, but her mind was too numb to utter them.

Brannock solemnly took her hand again. When she met his eyes, she saw the truth she wanted to refuse staring plainly at her: Brea, for the first time in her life, was ranked in the top three and in danger of being chosen to enter the Hunger Games.


	10. Chapter 10

Brea spent that night bawling into her pillow, which didn't quiet her cries much. Brannock had knocked several times, but she refused to open her locked door to him. She had even heard Tip's soft voice, asking to gain entrance, but the door remained closed. The pair eventually sunk to the floor and paid vigil for Brea. Their care for her made the wave of the fresh news overwhelm her with a new pain.

In her lapses of crying, she could hear them whispering. Catching only snippets of their conversation, she heard enough to know they were talking about the Quarter Quell and the twist it brought.

Tip had asked, "Why would they rank you first if you attacked a Peacekeeper, Brannock?"

"I don't know. It doesn't make any sense."

"And Brea's ranking..."

"I'm as lost on that one as you are."

Bitterly, Brea stewed on the knowledge that to Brannock, being the top-ranked boy eligible must have felt like a miraculous occurrence. In his eyes, he got a second chance to prove himself. In her eyes, she received her death sentence.

The only comfort she would allow herself was that the Council would not be the sole voice in choosing the tributes this year. If it was up to the district's citizens, Brea was confident that there were people, like Rena, who were more favored than she. Despite being brought into the spotlight by the Council, Brea clung to the hope that Rena's popularity would be enough for her to be chosen. She was counting on it. She depended on it.

In the following days, Brea didn't leave the safety of her room. Outside her door awaited her brother, the future victor, her father, the past victor, and District 2, the entity who would decide on whether or not she would become part of the annual sacrifice to the Capitol. She didn't want to face any of them and so, shut them all out.

Food would slip under the door several times a day, either brought by Brannock or Tip. Sometimes, Brea's exhaustion ravaged her appetite and she wouldn't leave a crumb uneaten. Other times, the plate remained untouched as an act of rebellion against the outside world and the pain it had brought her.

Throughout all of this, her father never made an appearance. Brea had expected him to brake down the door and drag her out by now. Her top ranking should have meant more and harder training with little to no respite until the night the voting took place. Yet, he let her be. His allowing her space confused her and the more she tried to rationalize it, the more it concerned her.

In the evenings, Brannock and Tip would knock on her door. It always went unopened, so they would sit on the floor and talk, sometimes to her through the door. Though she wouldn't reply, their presence soothed her.

She learned, through Brannock and Tip, that the house arrest had been lifted and there was no other news of further punishment for she and Brannock. The other topics the pair discussed were all centric around the Games, but ranged from Rena's outrage at her placement in second to the campaigns that had broken out to lure in voters.

The date of the voting would be the night before the Reaping. Typically, the Reaping consisted of the announcing of the tributes whom the Council had decided on. However, this year's process would be altered by the Quarter Quell. That night, each citizen would be required to come to the voting booths set up in the district square. They would write on two pieces of paper the names of the eligibles they were voting for and the votes would be tallied before the Reaping.

The campaigns were organized by citizens who either wanted to persuade or dissuade the voting of certain eligibles. Based on what Brannock and Tip told her, no expense or strategy was too extreme.

One night, Brannock sat alone outside of Brea's door, she lying down on the floor on the other side. He told her, to Brea's surprise, that he had decided not to campaign. "It just seems desperate to me," he stated, "to try to convince people to vote in your favor. People already knew who they wanted to be in the Games before this whole Quarter Quell thing." He told her about the angles everyone was playing and the tactics they used, many attacking him.

"I think everyone sees through them as unsupported rumors." He commented. He then paused. Though Brea couldn't see it with her eyes, she knew the look that his face now wore. One of confusion, deliberation, and hesitation. She sat up and waited.

"People are using you as well, you know."

Her voice croaked, unused for several days, "Rena?"

"Mainly."

Brea laid back down. "What's she saying?"

"That you've gone crazy...like Mom."

Brea's eyes burned. Rena had no boundaries uncrossed when it came to getting what she wanted. After a moment, she muttered, "Do you think I am?"

Brannock paused again, out of thoughtfulness this time. "No," he concluded. "I think you're showing a side of the Games that District 2 has forgotten. We've been desensitized to the horrors of the Games because we've glamorized it as an opportunity to be famous and honored."

Brea sniffed. "I never thought I'd hear you say something like that."

Brea could hear Brannock's smile through the door. "You act like I'm a shade of Rena, completely void of empathy."

Brea shook her head, even though she knew Brannock couldn't see it. "No, I don't. It's just that any time you've talked about the Games, it's always been in a good light."

"And you have always talked about the Games from its shadows."

Brea's face and voice darkened. "Children killing other children for a nation's amusement has no light in it, Brannock."

He was silent for a moment, then said softly, almost to himself, "When you had said stuff like that in the past, I ignored it. I thought you didn't understand the Games and were being unrealistic. However, ever since Ranking Day, I've been thinking about all those things that I had acted like were baseless and nonsensical." His voice quieted even more, causing Brea to strain to hear him, "Brea, I don't think we got those top positions because of any training we did."

Her voice matched his, "I don't either."

"I didn't know what to think about that at first, but now I know. It scares me."

Brea wiped away a tear. "Me too."

Her brother's voice was tight as he tried to hold back the emotion Brea knew he felt. "I'm so sorry, Brea."

A few moments passed. A click of a door unlocking could be heard in the house, followed by the sounds of two muffled sobs.


	11. Chapter 11

Brea reluctantly resumed her training. She wanted to remain inside her home until Reaping Day, but Brannock's thoughts convinced her otherwise. "You know how District 2 feels about cowardice, Brea. People have noticed your absence and the reasons they are giving for your disappearance do not paint you prettily. Your hiding could bring about the opposite effects you're hoping for."

Luckily, between Ranking Day and the Reaping, the training area was closed off to everyone but the top twenty, so Brea didn't have to face much of District 2 there. However, once she was outside of its walls, people abounded.

Before Ranking Day, she had been able to go places without much notice being brought on her, but now, groups of people would fall silent and fix their eyes on her as she passed by. Some read of fascination, others curiousity, but most, disdain.

Brea didn't blame them. For someone to make such a big jump in ranking in one year was uncommon, especially when there wasn't any physical evidence to back it up. If the tables were turned, she would suspect coercion and favoritism was involved. Even worse, Brea wasn't convinced that either of those hadn't played a part in this year's ranking.

When asking her brother what she should do, he had contemplated for a few moments, then responded, "Let's stick together from now on."

From that point on, Brannock and Brea were a unit when outside of the home. One wasn't present without the other.

Brea was surprised to see the stark difference between the attitudes towards Brannock versus her. People would congratulate him openly in the streets, embracing him and shaking his hand. Some even preemptively asked for his autograph. He did it all with a beaming smile and a gracious air. Brea seemed to be the only one who noticed that this wasn't done with the ease of someone who had spent their whole life dreaming of this opportunity. She thought of inquiring Brannock about it, but decided to keep the observation to herself.

As the Reaping approached nearer, people began to treat her with more civility, even forgiving kindness. Instead of being addressed casually, she was now "Miss Lockhart", a sign of respect and maturation.

Brea wondered if her brother's tactic had worked against her favor, but wouldn't allow what that could mean to be dwelled on. When the Games and the constant trying to appease District 2 wore her down to the bone, she found respite in the presence of Brannock and Tip.

The pair, now publicly known, were all Brea had imagined them to be. Both were boisterous and fun-loving at the necessary times, quiet and contemplative during others. When they weren't holding hands, Brea saw their fingers timidly brush each other as they walked past each other, always longing to feel the other near them.

The sight always brought about a pang in Brea's chest. She knew there was pity and sadness for them in the feeling, but there was something else intertwined in it.

Brea had never experienced romance herself. She was friendly with several boys in the district, but only because they were really Brannock's friends first. None of them showed her any of the special interest she noticed them give to other girls. Anything with potential would have been quickly extinguished by her father anyways. In his eyes, boys were a distraction and competitors for the title of tribute that rightfully belonged to Brannock.

At first, Brea was scared about their father's reaction to Tip and Brannock, and what her father might do to separate them, but her brother was unafraid. "He doesn't get to dictate this, Brea," he had said. "Besides, who would the Lucky Lockhart's be without their loyal friend?"

This was the twins' new title, deemed by the multitudes of journalists, who had come from the Capitol to interview the twins. Initially, Brea was resistant to speaking with them, but Brannock coaxed her into standing by him and matching his broad smile.

"So," a neon-colored journalist said now, "what is your two's favorite food?"

Brea had exchanged a glance between the reporter and Brannock. Brea didn't have much exposure to the Capitol's citizens outside of what was televised, but of what she had heard and seen seemed to be confirmed in this journalist: they were clueless. Did this idiot actually believe that because they shared a womb, they also shared a favorite food?

Brannock sensed Brea's exasperation and answered the question, "Anything our dad doesn't make."

As the journalist laughed, Brea looked up at her brother in a mix of awe and admiration. He had been physically and mentally trained for the Games, but the way he worked the journalists and cameras all came naturally. It was like he was made for this. Then, Brea realized that if she was thinking this, so was the rest of District 2.

The journalist wiped at tear-brimmed eyes, and after asking a few more questions, scurried off to find the other top threes. Brea released a breath and leaned heavily against a nearby wall. "I don't know how many more of those I can do, Bran. Those people suck the life out of me."

Bran rubbed his temples tiredly. "Yeah, they can be a bit much after a few of them. Good news is that the Reaping is tomorrow and it'll all be over."

Brea stiffened. "What if it doesn't end?"

Brannock placed a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. "It will. For you at least. I think all I've done is solidified my chances of being voted the male tribute." His voice was noticeably sardonic.

Brea hesitated then asked, "How do you feel about that?"

Brannock ran a hand through his hair. "Not as good as I thought it would." He quieted his voice, saying to himself, "I don't know if I even want it anymore."

Brea bit her lip. She had been so focused on dissuading District 2's animosity towards her that she hadn't really spent much time on thinking about dissuading the district from choosing Brannock. The fact that his view of the Games had changed made her all the more queasy. The desire to protect him from the fate he had worked so hard to shield her from became all the stronger.

A daring thought touched her mind. At first, she had brushed it aside, but then, she pulled it back in and dwelled on it. She tried to map out every possible outcome and decided that she was in no worse shape with any of the consequences she foresaw on her current course.

"C'mon, Brannock. Let's head home."


	12. Chapter 12

When Brea pressed her ear against her father's study door, she heard him shuffling from one end of the room to the other, mumbling words that she was unable to decipher through the thick, wooden door. She sat back, wondering if her plan had any chance of succeeding.

Then, she heard the steps stop and her father say clearly, "Stop crouching outside my door, Brea."

She jumped. While she knew her father had had some training before becoming a tribute and that Games brought out skills there was no training for, he was able to do things that seemed unnatural. The thought made her shiver.

She sheepishly stepped into the study, shutting the door softly behind her. Brannock was out, casting his vote along with the rest of District 2. She had already cast hers early that morning before the journalists could catch her and interrogate her. She knew the lines were long at this time of day, but in case he came back early, she didn't want him to hear this conversation.

The room was dark, save for a thin line of remaining sunlight that peeked through his closed curtains. The light faintly outlined her father's form leaning against his desk, arms crossed. The smell of books and dust filled her nose, awaking a memory of him throwing one of those books at her when she was young. She hadn't been able to remember fighting techniques during sparring with him one day, so he hurled a heavy sparring book at her, demanding she not sleep until she had the whole list of moves memorized.

Brea swallowed the fear she felt beginning to rise up.

"What do you want, Brea?"

Brea stiffened. "Well, if we're cutting right to it. After the voting finishes tonight, I want you to make sure that Brannock isn't chosen as tribute and that I am."

She paused, waiting for his response. He gave none that she could decipher. In the darkness, it was difficult to see her father's face and to gauge him. She continued, "We both know Brannock is the district's favorite, but I also know you being on the Council gives you the ability to," she paused, trying to think of a word that got her message across, but didn't sound assuming, "influence things. He has so much potential to live out here in the district and should be given the chance to do so." She paused, then said gravely, "I've done nothing but disappoint you. Give me a chance to do right by this family, whether that's by winning or dying."

There was silence. Dark, brooding silence. Then, her father spoke, "The fact that you come in here, groveling like a beggar, is repulsive. Your brother has more chance of becoming a victor than you could ever hope for, yet you wish to rob him of that title."

She hurriedly replied, "No, Dad. I want to give him the best chance to live a life outside of the Games!" This wasn't going where she had hoped.

"Is your faith in your brother returning as a victor so lacking?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but he continued, "That stunt you and Brannock pulled on Ranking Day is not so easily forgotten. The Council was infuriated at the lack of respect you two showed towards them and the system District 2 operates by. Perhaps it's time you learned that they, and the verdicts they place, have power that even Brea Lockhart can't fight against."

Her voice rose, fear escalating it, "That was my fault, not Brannock's! They don't need to punish him for my mistakes! I'll take the punishment of being sent to the Games, but Brannock shouldn't be included just because of me! He has too much to live for!"

"Oh? What is so precious here that is worth stealing his chance at glory and honor?"

Brea wanted to tear her hair out. "What about life isn't precious? He could do so much! He could influence change through his career or maybe even become a father! Even if none of that happened and he just got to live a life without being haunted by the ghosts of the Games, it'd be worth it to me!" She panted, worked up by her passion for her brother's well-being. She added tearfully, "If I am as hopeless of a cause as you say I am, then all I am going to do is disappoint you for the rest of our lives by remaining here. Let me do something to change your opinion of me."

Her father's reply was slowly given, each word punctuated into the musty air, "You're going to have to do more than waltz in here and whimper about how you should be chosen instead of your brother when, in actuality, you just want to cover up the fact that you have no backbone."

Brea stepped forward, gritting through her teeth, "I may not be able to swallow much about the Games, but if it meant that Brannock was given a chance to live a full, happy life, I would slaughter every single tribute that entered that arena." Brea was shocked at the darkness in her voice. Even more so, that she meant every word. She knew she loved Brannock, but for it to drive her to murder scared her.

She took another step towards her father, softening her voice, "Dad, please. I know I've disappointed you more often than not, but I am asking you to please," she took another step, "please save Brannock from this."

Her father answered quietly, "Get out."

Brea didn't move, more out of fear than stubbornness. She had angered the most powerful force in the district and had thus endangered the one person who was most dear to her. Not only that, the one person who could save Brannock refused to.

Her father launched forward, stopping inches in front of her face. The evening light highlighted his bloodshot eyes and the paleness of his skin. His hair was let down out of its braid and tangled in mats. He looked more animal than human. "Will you not even listen to what your own father says to you? I said get out!"

Brea dashed out of the room, the door slamming behind her barely missing her heels. She fell onto the floor and after sliding to a halt, remained still. She stared at the door, hoping her father would burst through it and change his mind. That he would find something he would be willing to bargain for the promise to protect Brannock from entering the Games.

The door did not open.

Brea stood slowly, then turned away from the room and secluded herself in her own.

She watched the sun come up, painting the sky in a beautiful array of colors that Brea could not enjoy.

Today was the Reaping.


	13. Chapter 13

The Reaping

* * *

Brea peeked out from one of the front windows of their house and saw their yard covered in journalists, cameras from the Capitol, and district citizens awaiting the appearance of the top-ranked twins. Beyond the confines of their home awaited lies and the unknown, both of which she didn't want to face alone. She stepped back as she heard footsteps behind her.

Brannock walked out of his room, buttoning up his shirt, their eyes meeting. He was wearing a dark blue shirt that brought out the blue in his eyes. He smiled and looked at her dress. Brea followed his gaze and saw that they were wearing matching colors. She smiled. "It's like we're kids again."

Brannock's grin fell slightly. He trod up to her and said, as he buttoned his last button, "We are still kids, Brea."

Now that he was closer, she noticed that their clothes weren't the only things that matched. He had dark circles under his eyes, which were red and puffy, telling Brea that they both had had a sleepless night.

"We look rough."

Brannock's smile returned. "Funnily enough, I really don't care anymore."

She took his hand resolutely. "Whatever happens today, I know I can face it because I have you."

"Brea." He leaned in close, grabbing her shoulders. "We could try to get you out of here. They can't force you to go to the Games if you aren't around."

"And leave you to be taken away and questioned? Absolutely not."

He worked his jaw, unsatisfied. "I used to want this, but you never have."

Brea's heart was pained by the words. "Used to?"

The twins' eyes met. "All I want now is to hear Rena's, anybody's, name called besides yours."

She smiled gently. "Have you lost confidence in your plan?"

"Only that it worked too well...or not well enough."

Brea added soothingly, "You know that the district is crawling with Peacekeepers. I'm too popular now to be able to slip away without being noticed."

He shook his head, releasing her. After a moment, he said, "Did you know Tip made me promise to keep you out of the Games?"

Brea's shocked face kept him talking. "She said that I had to use every tactic I knew to better your chances of not getting picked." He ran a hand through his hair. "I even talked to Dad about it."

Brea's head snapped up and her heart sank. "What?"

"Yeah, crazy right? He didn't make any promises, but he said he'd think about it. I wasn't going to tell you at first, but then figured you should know."

Brea was felt nauseous. "Wow. Really?"

"Yeah. Look", he took one of her hands into his, "Like you said, either way, we'll figure it out."

"We tried everything, Brannock. It may have been enough, it may not have been."

He nodded, silently.

Brea smiled. "Ready?"

He squeezed her hand. "Not really."

"Me either."

The second they opened the door, lights flashed and dozens of voices all began calling out their names. Brea raised a hand to ward off the camera lights, stopping in her tracks. The crowd quieted, waiting to hear what she would say.

"A bit early for blinding us, don't you think guys?" Brea added a grin for good measure.

The crowd laughed. One of the journalists replied, "Panem loves you guys so much! What would you like to say to them if you two are voted to go to the Games?"

Brea froze, her heart stopping. Luckily, Brannock replied confidently, "Hopefully, they'll be just as generous with their pocketbooks as they are with their affections. We're ready for the Games, but we'll take all the help we can get!"

The crowd roared in applause and cheers. Brea squeezed her brother's hand in thanks as they continued walking towards the district's square, where the Reaping would occur. They were tailed by the crowd, which grew as they neared the square. The journalists peppered the two with questions, some they answered and some not. When they weren't answering questions, they were silent, preoccupied by their own thoughts.

When they arrived at the square, they were registered and were forced to let each other's hands go as they separated into the boys and girls groups.

Brea mouthed, "Good luck."

Brannock replied, "You too."

After being separated by sex, the children were ordered in rank, then the rankless were sorted alphabetically. Brea had a front row view to the stage from where she stood. There were people from both the Capitol and the district running to and fro across the stage, arranging last minute details. The decorations were ornate, ranging in color and textures. Stone statues lined the stage, depicting gruesome scenes from the Dark Days, the signing of the Treaty of Treason, and popular moments from previous Hunger Games. Brea recognized one statue as her father, eighteen years younger. He was poised throwing a spear, which was how he killed the last tribute before claiming his victory. Brea could tell, even from the distance, that the sculptor had done a terrific job. It looked as if it would come to life, find Brea with its brilliantly blue eyes, and aim the spear right at her. She looked away from it.

There were large screens on either side of the stage to ensure that everyone could see what the Reaping held. Now, cameras panned over the crowds and the eligibles filing in. When one of the cameras rested on her, she saw herself on the screens. They must have done editing of the footage as they shot it because all dark circles, redness, or any indication of the wear the Games had put on her the past few months was not evident. She hated the distorted reflection and tore her eyes away.

Rena took her place next to Brea, making sure to step on her toes as she scooted past her. When she settled in her spot, Rena seethed as she stared straight ahead, "I have never liked you, Lockhart, but I thought even you were above cheating your way to the top."

Brea whispered, also staring straight ahead, "Rena, trust me when I say that I literally don't want to be in this position."

"You know what people are saying, don't you?"

"I don't, but I have a feeling you're going to tell me."

"That your father has finally cracked and made sure that both you and Brannock would go to the Games to double his chances of having one of his kids be a victor."

Brea chuckled. "Honestly, Rena, I wouldn't be surprised if that one was true."

Rena apparently wasn't expecting that reaction, so she continued to probe. "Tell me, if your dad's plans succeed, will you off Brannock at the start or will you wait until you're the only two left before you kill him?"

Brea felt heat rise to her cheeks, but her voice remained level as she replied, "I'm surprised you have counted yourself out of the running so quickly, Rena. From what I understand, you have worked very hard to dirty a lot of names in your campaigns."

Brea then turned to Rena and leaned over so her face was hid from the camera as she whispered in Rena's ear, "But I promise you this: if you do get in the Games instead of me, I will sell all I own to make sure every other tribute in that arena has the upper hand. I don't care if they're a Career or not, I'll help them all. There is no expense I will spare if it means I get to see your lifeless face on my television screen."

She leaned back enough so their eyes met. Rena's eyes were hard, but Brea could see the fear in them. She held her gaze steadily as she said, "Don't mess with me when it comes to my family."

A gentle hand grabbed and squeezed Brea's hand. Brea turned to see who it was and saw Tip behind her. She had ranked twelfth this year and had slipped into her spot behind Brea. Tip's face was tense and she shook her head slightly. Once Brea's shoulders relaxed, Tip's hand released hers.

Trumpets sounded and everyone's attention was brought towards the stage. The Reaping was about to begin.


	14. Chapter 14

As the trumpets quieted, a band began to play as the Council, mayor, and previous victors filed onto the stage. An unseen announcer read off their names and titles as the crowd clapped profusely. Brea watched the faces, wondering which two victors would be the mentors for this year's tributes. In the twenty-four years the Games have taken place, almost half were from their district alone. Since only two victors were allowed each year to mentor the tributes, a rotation had been set up. Odds were ever at play when it came to the Games.

Next, the District 2 escort sauntered onto the stage, causing the crowd to cheer in delight.

Corbinus Tate had been the escort for District 2 tributes for as long as Brea could remember. He had started the year her father was the male tribute and had remained ever since. Only his shoulder-length, snow-white hair indicated his elderly age. Everything else about him, like his unwrinkled face and fit build, made him look decades younger.

In comparison with most of the Capitol citizens Brea had seen, Corbinus was simply dressed. He wore a deep crimson suit that shimmered as it caught the stage lights. His smile was brilliantly white and genuine as he waved to the crowd. Though Brea immediately didn't trust anyone from the Capitol, she couldn't help but like him, along with everyone else in the district.

He found his place center-stage, standing in front of the marble podium waiting for him. "Hello, District 2! It is a pleasure to be back with you all again. I am so honored to be here and to be a part of such a historical event: the first ever Quarter Quell!"

Applause rang out, then subsided as he continued, "As you all know, this year brought a surprise that shook up the traditions that we are accustomed to. This year, you all were given the privilege of voting for who would represent your district in the Games. From what I understand, it brought out quite the competition."

Brea, our of the corner of her eye, saw Rena's mouth morph into a smirk.

"Today, we shall get to see whose campaigns worked! Let's first, however, remember why we are here."

He turned towards the screens, on which played the yearly video from the Capitol recounting the history of the Dark Days and the Treaty of Treason. As Brea watched the scenes of re-enactments and clips from previous Hunger Games, anxiety began to tighten her chest. Seeing the Games play out in front of her made her desire to keep Brannock out of them all the more severe. When she noticed the sweat that formed on her upper lip and palms, she wiped it away before the cameras could see.

At the end of the video, Corbinus took the microphone off of its stand on the podium and walked over to two yellow envelopes that were propped up for the crowd to see. Written in loopy handwriting was "Boy" on one envelope and "Girl" on the other.

His hand floated above each of the envelopes. "Since the theme is people's choice this year, I'll let you choose. Which should I open first?"

The crowd erupted in calling out their votes. Corbinus feigned straining to hear the crowd as he leaned towards them and cupped a hand around his ear. This only made them scream all the louder. Around her, the girls eligibles screamed, "The girl! The girl!" while the boys yelled, "The boy! The boy!" The commotion made Brea feel like she was standing amidst a pack of starved dogs, jumping over one another as they begged for a scrap of food.

Corbinus smiled and plucked up the male envelope. The crowd replied with a mix of cheers and groans.

He slowly opened the envelope and brought the mic to his mouth. Brea could hear the breathing of the girls surrounding her.

"District 2, you have spoken. Your male tribute will be..."

Brea held her breath. She ran through a list of eligibles in her head, repeating them over and over as if this could save Brannock from being chosen. She clung to the hope that her father had mercy on Brannock, his favorite.

"...Brannock Lockhart!"

Brea's breath escaped her and her legs wavered. The crowd erupted in cheers around her as she searched for her father. His eyes were trained on his son, a cool smile on his face as he clapped politely. She wanted him to look at her, to see how he had finally broken her.

Brannock made his way onto the stage, receiving slaps on the back and handshakes along the way. He bore a smile as he waved to the crowds, beelining for Corbinus. Brea's heart hurt all the more when she saw that the smile was a strained one.

Corbinus shook his hand and exclaimed, "I am having a serious case of deja-vu. You are practically the spitting image of your father!"

Brea watched the gears in Brannock's head lock into place and the mask secure itself on. Brannock laughed, tossing his head back, "That's what they tell me! Guess we'll see if my title is the spitting image of his as well!"

This brought about applause. When they quieted, Corbinus leaned in and whispered, as if the crowd couldn't hear them, "From what I understand, both you and your sister were top-ranked this year."

Brannock's smile fell slightly as he found Brea in the crowd. He spoke to Corbinus, but his eyes remained on her. "Yes, she is. I am so proud of her."

Corbinus' smile changes slightly. There was a newfound sincerity in it as he watched Brannock. "You have an extraordinary family, that's for certain," he added thoughtfully.

A moment of silence passed before he turned to the crowd and said, "Speaking of which, it's time for the girls."

Everyone remained silent as the envelope was slowly torn opened. Brea stared only at Brannock, refusing to look anywhere else. His eyes never left hers, silently assuring her that all would be okay.

"District 2, you have spoken. Your female tribute is..."

She held her breath.

"...Brea Lockhart!"

Cheers caught in crowd's throats and hands stilled mid-applause. Brea didn't get to see Brannock's reaction because the second she heard her name, her eyes closed as her stomach dropped.

Corbinus' voice saying her name echoed in her mind. That echo prevented her from hoping she had misheard him. Suddenly, she remembered that all of Panem was watching her and that she wasn't doing herself any favors by showing how close she was to collapsing.

She looked around dazedly, confused that the congratulations she had expected the voted tribute to receive were not waiting for her, but she managed to hide that emotion. Two Peacekeepers stepped up, signaling her to start moving.

The weight of a thousand eyes and cameras was on her as she began to tread up towards the stage. Confused murmurs trailed behind her. One she caught as she passed was "But what about Rena?"

She started to go up the steps, but felt her knees wobble. Just as she was about to grab a hold of the railing, a hand reached out. When she took the hand and looked up at her savior, matching blue eyes stared back at her.

They made their way to the center of the stage together. Corbinus called out to the crowd as the pair came to him, "This is amazing. The Lucky Lockharts are not to be separated, ladies and gentlemen."

He wrapped a gentle hand around Brea's shoulders and said to the crowd, "District 2, here are your tributes!"

The applause slowly started up and became deafeningly loud. Brea looked out at the faces, searching for any sign that they weren't real, that this wasn't happening.

Corbinus softly nudged Brea and Brannock's connected hands, a message Brea understood. She raised their hands, lying to both District 2 and Panem that they were ready to meet the Games head on.

Corbinus spoke to the crowd, but his eyes were fixed on Brea as he said, "May the odds be ever in your favor."


	15. Chapter 15

After the tributes had been announced, it was customary for family members and close friends to say goodbye and give their well-wishes to their tributes in the Justice Hall.

The moment the city hall doors shut behind the twins, Peacekeepers appeared out of the shadows and swarmed the two, wrenching them apart. The two struggled, but were easily overtaken and dragged away from each other. The twins screamed out each other's names as they disappeared from view.

They had tossed Brea into the mayor's office, locking the door behind her. She had punched and kicked the door over and over, screaming every obscenity she knew after them through the thick wood.

After she saw the doors weren't going to budge, she paced the room, waiting for whatever lied ahead. She knew now, with certainty, that something was amiss. The treatment and attitude of the Peacekeeper's wasn't that of keeping trouble out, but keeping it contained. She felt less like a District 2 tribute and more like a prisoner. She feared what was happening to Brannock, hoping he was just being sequestered like herself.

Just as Brea was about to throw the mayor's desk chair through a window, the doors flung open and in swept Tip. Brea hardly had time to catch her friend as she leapt into her arms, bawling. She embraced her friend and they collapsed to the ground together.

Tip's shoulders shuddered as she gasped out, "How could they, Brea? How could they do this?"

Brea was shocked. She rarely saw Tip cry, especially like this. She found her voice to say, as she rubbed her friend's back, "It's how the people voted, Tip."

Her friend leaned back suddenly, revealing a blotchy, tear-stained face. "No, Brea", she sobbed, "I heard so many people say they were voting for Rena. So many. I didn't hear one person say they were voting for you."

Brea paused. She rationalized aloud, "Maybe people changed their mind. Maybe the Council coerced people to vote for me to teach me a lesson." These were all she could drudge up from the sea of questions she had.

Tip cried harder and shook her head vigorously. "You don't understand! I heard a Peacekeeper at the voting station say that Rena had won by a landslide! That she had gotten so far ahead of everyone else, nothing could change the outcome!" She racked into another fit of sobs and hugged her friend fiercely.

Brea was numb. Unable to think. Unable to move. Unable to speak. When her friend was torn away by Peacekeepers a minute later, Brea remained sitting on the floor, searching for something to ground her.

A moment later, the doors again opened and closed. Footsteps slowly walked towards her, then stopped in front of her.

"Get up, Brea."

The voice finally made her shiver with its cold tone, yet stirred up a fury that heated her to the tips of her fingers and toes. She stayed where she was, still staring at the floor. She whispered hoarsely, "What did you do?"

"I did what was necessary."

She looked up at her father. His face was cool, his eyes boldly meeting hers. He wasn't sorry for what he had done. If anything, he was proud. Brea's voice shook as she asked, "How could you?"

He leaned down towards her. "You said you will protect him. That you will kill to keep him alive. I expect you to uphold that end of the bargain."

Brea's hands were clenched so tightly into fists, her nails cut into her skin. "What bargain?", she spoke through gritted teeth.

He slowly circled her. "I protected Brannock by placing you in the Games with him. You can ensure he makes it back home as a victor and not in a pine box. Then, in return, you get the opportunity to prove yourself as a worthy tribute."

She whispered, "You're insane."

Suddenly, her father grabbed her hair at the base of the braid and yanked her onto her knees. She screamed, the pain dizzying her.

"Listen to me!", he hissed, "You can't expect me to hold your hand all the way through the Games. I will be working with my connections at the Capitol to get sponsors for you two, but you will need to do your part in convincing those simple-minded people to help you."

Brea's scalp was on fire. She attempted to elbow her father in the gut, but he deflected it with his knee and pulled harder on her hair as he stood at his full height. When she tried to stand to alleviate the pain, he punched her in the stomach. She bent over, coughing.

"I don't care what you have to do, but whatever comes, you need to be prepared for it if you're going to protect Brannock." He leaned down again, whispering into her ear, "Find Ambrose Crow. He'll tell you what you need to know."

He then dropped her and began to walk away.

Brea yelled after him, on all fours, hot tears streaming down her face, "You're a monster!"

He stopped and turned towards her again.

Brea spat, as she stood, "You're an arrogant, miserable, weak, murderous wretch." Then, she took a step towards him. "There are only two things noteworthy about you. One is that you are a victor and even that is sullied by the innocent blood you shed to earn it." Another step. "The other is that you fathered Brannock, the best person I have ever met, despite everything you ever did to try to turn him into you." Another step. "He is kind, strong, likeable, courageous, humble, and so much more." Step. "Yet, you only saw him as a way to carry on the title that you care so much about." Another step brought Brea inches from her father's face. "The funny thing is that when he wins and returns victor, no one will remember the person that fathered him. They'll remember him. When the glamour of the Games is stripped away, he is still great. You, on the other hand, are nothing without your precious title."

Her father's face was flushed with anger, but Brea was undeterred. She stared up at him and smiled, her voice quaking with love for her brother and defiance towards her father, "I will protect Brannock with everything I have in me and ensure he leaves that arena alive. Not for your legacy. For his."

Brea's father raised a fist, but the doors busting open paused its fall.

Corbinus entered, exclaiming, "All right, Miss Lockhart! The train is here, so time to say your last goodbyes!" He turned towards her father and his face broke into a beaming smile, as if the fist hovering in the air wasn't there. He strode over to shake his hand. "Ah, Mr. Lockhart, Senior! You hardly look a day older than when we last met! I am so excited to be working with your children!"

As Brea futilely tried to hide her tears, she noticed the white-knuckle grip Corbinus held onto her father with. An exchange seemed to happen between the two. Pain twisted her father's mouth slightly, but after a moment more, his hand was released.

Corbinus came behind Brea and gently cupped her shoulders. "Any last-minute, sage advice will have to be bottled up." He stared at her father, gesturing towards the door. "We have a lot to do yet."

Brea's father exchanged his gaze between Corbinus and she. She felt as if a line had been drawn between them and Corbinus was being clear on whose side he was on.

Her father said tightly, "Goodbye, Brea."

Brea's voice was distant. "Bye."

Brea couldn't explain it, but as the doors closed behind him, she knew that she would never see her father again.


	16. Chapter 16

Once the doors shut behind her father, Corbinus came around to face Brea and squeezed her shoulders. "We have known of each other for years, and yet, we've never been properly introduced." He stuck out his hand. "Corbinus Tate."

Brea gave a half-hearted chuckle and wiped at her nose with one hand as she shook his with the other. "Brea Lockhart."

Corbinus tapped the underside of her chin with a knuckle. "Don't worry about the tears. We can work with those."

Brea nodded, understanding. There would be cameras at the train station and the last thing Brea wanted was to seem weak to both potential sponsors and the other tributes. However, if Corbinus said he could twist it to their benefit, she believed him. "When can I see my brother?"

Corbinus' smile fell. "I am so sorry about your and Brannock's treatment after the ceremony. That was completely uncalled for and done without my knowledge. I would have come in sooner, but the Peacekeepers outside were giving me trouble about seeing you." His smile returned, along with a friendly wink. "I'd like to see someone, even Peacekeepers, try to keep me away from my tributes."

Brea smiled despite herself. Something about Corbinus felt genuine and safe. She wanted to believe it was a part of the Capitol ruse, but something in her gut told her that he meant her no harm. In the midst of all the ruses, lies, and deception, Brea clung to that gut-feeling as her guide.

"Come on," he placed a hand on her upper back, guiding her out the doors, "I'll take you to him now."

They walked out of the room and made their way to the main lobby. She had been too preoccupied with fighting off Peacekeepers to notice the beauty that lie inside the Justice Building. The floors and walls were marble with jasper filigree lining them. There were statues of various stones depicting the mayor, the District 2 victors, and the president, all skillfully crafted. Under different circumstances, Brea might have wanted to get closer to them and study the handiwork. Now, all of their gazes seemed aimed at her, watching and warning her to return victorious.

Once Brea laid eyes on Brannock, she broke out into a sprint towards him. When he heard and recognized her footfall bouncing off the walls, he spun around and beamed at her. He strode towards her, meeting her in the middle, and lifted her off her feet as he hugged her. He asked hurriedly, his voice muffled in her shoulder, "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

"No, no, I'm fine. What about you?"

He placed her back on her feet and leaned back, his hands cupping her face as he searced it. His eyes were wet with tears. "I'm better now seeing you. I didn't know what was going on when they took you away. I kept asking the Peacekeepers and they wouldn't tell me anything. When they brought Tip to me-." His voice then broke and he looked away.

Brea rubbed her brother's arm comfortingly. She hadn't thought about how hard his and Tip's goodbye must have been. She remembered her friend's flowing tears. "Brannock, she was really upset when they brought her to me. I'm worried about her."

He let his hands drop to his side as he stepped back. He looked down and wiped at his eyes. Brea stepped toward him, concerned. He shakily stated, "I ended things with her, Brea."

Brea's mouth fell open. All what she could get out was, "Why?"

"I really don't want to talk about it."

Brea's mouth snapped shut. She wasn't going to push it, especially seeing how upset Brannock was. Unlike she, Brannock wasn't emotional. She knew he felt and felt deeply, but it was always more restrained than Brea's outbursts. This behavior was abnormal and it made Brea uneasy and burdened with questions.

Corbinus stepped up tentatively. "You guys ready? I hate to step in on a sentimental moment, but we do have a train waiting on us."

The twins nodded.

Corbinus smiled at Brannock and offered his hand. "Corbinus Tate."

Brannock took and shook it. "Brannock Lockhart."

Corbinus attempted to release his hand from Brannock's, but Brannock's grip was firm. He leaned forward and said darkly, "Don't separate me from my sister like that again."

Corbinus' eyes were steady on Brannock as he nodded solemnly. "History won't repeat itself. I promise you that."

Brannock searched Corbinus' eyes for a moment, then satisfied, released his captor.

Corbinus' smile was back, gentler this time. He gestured his hand towards the back of the building. "This way."

Brannock resolutely took up Brea's hand and together, they followed Corbinus. Brea noticed a line of Peacekeepers trailing a few yards behind them. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a small camera crew on each side of them, tracking them as the walked on. She held onto Brannock's hand tighter. "I think we've got more than one escort."

Brannock turned around, eyeing the Peacekeepers. "I think that and our warm welcome after the ceremony is the Council's way of sending us off."

Brea nodded, agreeing. She dared to whisper, "Hopefully, they're satisfied enough to leave us alone."

Brannock then saw the camera crew. He called out to Corbinus, "Is the camera crew joining us on the train?"

Corbinus turned towards the cameras, then them, "No, they'll meet us at the Capitol." He winked at the two of them. "That bit with the running embrace was brilliant."

The twins glanced at each other. Brea didn't know how she felt about being filmed. The knowledge that a camera was trained on her made her feel awkward and fidgety. However, she knew if she was to give Brannock the best chances of coming back to District 2, not only would she have to get used to it, she'd have to use the attention to her advantage.

"What do you think sponsors will be looking for?" Brea asked.

Corbinus turned to face them again, walking backwards. He exchanged a glance in between the two and said simply, "The love between family." Corbinus winked at them. "I don't imagine it'll be too hard to show."

The hands squeezed each other.

Brannock asked, "When will we meet our mentors? Do you know who they are this year?"

Brea remembered her father's year of mentoring a few years past. She and Brannock had stayed with Tip's family for the duration. It was still her fondest memory connected with the Games.

Corbinus smiled as they reached the other end of the building. "I don't want to spoil any surprises. You'll meet them soon."

The doors opened to reveal the chrome-walled train that would transport them to the Capitol. It was the mode of transportation saved for only Capitol-sanctioned travel, so this was a new experience for Brea. Despite the day's events, her stomach tightened with excitement at the thought of riding it. A smile even spread onto her lips.

The train doors smoothly opened before them and Corbinus gestured inside. "Shall we get started?"

Brea looked to Brannock. He smiled gently and her shoulders straightened. "Let's."

As the train began to pull away, Brea watched Brannock stare out one of the windows towards District 2.

As their home became a blur and disappeared from view, Brea watched Brannock's face harden. She read his thoughts clearly: for certain, one of them would never lay eyes on home again.


	17. Chapter 17

Brea couldn't believe how still the train felt as it zoomed down the tracks. She could walk around the train car with ease, barely sensing the miles that flew by under her feet. If she couldn't have seen the trees blurring past through the windows, she'd wonder if the train was moving at all.

This was far from the only luxury the train provided. Corbinus had left them in a room, stocked with plates of cheeses, fruit, breads, and sweets spread all over the car. Most she recognized, but the Capitol had delicacies too extravagant even for District 2. Some of the scents and look of the food was tantalizing and others she veered away from in her inspection. She hadn't eaten much the past few days, so she gathered a small plateful, sticking to foods she knew.

Her father had been disciplined with her and Brannock's diet, so compared to what she was used to, the food was decadent. Everything they had eaten was for the purpose of fueling either their minds or their bodies for training. Rich foods and sugary confections were never found inside the Lockhart home.

In any other situation, Brea would have relished in the freedom and eaten her fill, but now, the food had the foreboding taste of a last supper. She had to force each bite down, each more ashy than the last. Finally, she shoved the half-eaten plate away in disgust.

Brannock had found the alcohol. Back home, they hadn't tasted much because it interfered with their diet. "Empty calories", their father had stated after they had been gifted a bottle from Tip's family for her and Brannock's eighteenth birthday. He had poured it out as Brea and Brannock watched.

Brea watched him rummage through the selections. There were dozens of glass bottles, ranging in size and their contents in color.

Brannock brought over two small glasses filled with a dark blue liquid. He handed her one, his face hard. "Bottoms up."

The vapors from the drink shot up Brea's nose and made her eyes water. It was undoubtedly strong, to the point of being unnaturally so. Brea's instinct told her that this was a Capitol concoction, which made her distrust it immediately. "Don't, Brannock. We don't know what's in this stuff."

He shot her a sharp look, his eyes red and his cheeks wet. "By the smell of it, it'll do its job. That's all I care about."

She pushed her glass to the side. "I don't think it's a good idea."

Brannock rolled his eyes. "If there was ever a time to forget about a few things for a while, now is probably it, Brea."

This reckless behavior wasn't in her brother's character and it was starting to scare her. She needed him clear-headed, not only for his survival through the Games, but for her mental grounding point as well. If Brannock became unhinged now, there was no guarantee she wouldn't do the same. She leaned forward. "Brannock. This isn't like you. Talk to me."

Brannock's eyes deadened as he tipped back the glass. He immediately coughed and sputtered, the blue drink dribbling down his chin and onto the expensive furniture. He threw the glass to the side as he stood and marched to the door. He yanked on the sliding door to leave, but it didn't budge. He fought with the door, smacked the glass a few times, then stilled.

Brea waited.

"Did Dad visit you before we left?"

Brea was surprised by the abrupt question. "Yes."

Brannock turned towards her. "Do you hate him?"

Brea paused. She had asked herself the same question countless times. She hated how he looked at her in disgust, how he treated she and Brannock like tributes their entire lives, how he never acted like any of the other fathers in the district, how he never told her that he loved her. However, when she thought of the man who did all of this, when the heat of anger subsided, it was pity that remained. She shook her head dazedly, processing her own analysis.

Brannock thought on her answer for a moment, then replied, "I didn't think I did. I might have not liked the way he treated you and how he was always hanging over me, but until today, I didn't think I hated him. Now, I'm positive that I do."

Brea felt words heavy in her mouth, words that were a lot softer than she would have expected in regards to her father. "I wish we knew him before he went to the Games. Who he was before the Capitol got a hold of him."

Brannock instinctively stiffened at the open condemnation of the Capitol, but then relaxed. Brea saw the thoughts stir around in his head as he settled on that there was little the Capitol could do to them now. They were sacrificing them, after all.

Brea, however, tightened her jaw in self-condemnation. She knew that she wasn't helping him win the Games by ridiculing the Capitol with so little thought of who may be watching. She would have to be more careful in the future.

Brannock shaking his head brought Brea out of her thoughts. "I don't know, Brea. Can someone really be changed into being like him? Or did the Games just bring out what was already there?"

Brea thought of their mother. She didn't sound like she would have fallen in love and bore children with the man the twins knew. Brea imagined the woman she invisioned as her mother and her father, as she had seen him in the footage of his year in the Games. Young and in love. In her mind's eye, she saw a girl with her features and a boy with Brannock's, holding hands as they walked along the square. When her father smiled down at the girl, Brea realized sorrowfully how handsome and warm her father must have looked when he smiled. She had never witnessed it outside of her imagination.

No. There had to have been a shift. "I don't think it's the same answer for everyone."

He stared at the door, asking quietly, "What about us, Brea? Are the Games going to change us or will they bring something out of us we never knew existed?"

She didn't answer. The thought that there could be any possibility that either she or Brannock would end up like their father made her feel ill.

Suddenly, a voice at the other end of the cart said smoothly, "Time will tell, won't it?"


	18. Chapter 18

Brannock and Brea's head snapped towards the direction of the voice. No one was there.

Brannock yanked out a steak knife he had hid in his pocket and squat down into a fighting stance. "Who's there?"

Brea squinted, searching for anything that would indicate the source of the voice. The voice was too clear to come out of an overhead speaker. No, someone was in the room with them. A woman, by the pitch of the voice.

Then, Brea caught the slightest rising and falling of a long, red curtain by one of the windows. She walked over and stood in front of it. "Weren't you ever taught that spying on people was rude?"

Two bright, brown eyes appeared amdist the curtain and a wrinkle in the fabric turned into a smug smile. Then, the curtain moved and a woman emerged, doused in red paint to match the curtain's fabric. Brea's face flushed as she noticed that nothing clothed the woman's body besides the paint. She quickly turned her head and felt her face heat even more as the woman chuckled patronizingly.

The Capitol was not put off by nudity, a fact that was often exhibited in the fashion choices of the tribute's stylist's for all of Panem to see. Though it wasn't Brea's first time seeing the exposed body of another person, it was still strange and made her uncomfortable. The way the woman seemed so uncaring about her vulnerability made it all the more unnerving.

Her voice matched the velvety nature of the curtain she had been disguised as. "I thought I'd like to observe my tributes before being formally introduced. I think it makes seeing who you really are, and thus, preparing you two for the Games all the more effective." She looked over at Brannock and her eyes rested on the blade. She chuckled again, unperturbed. "Mind sheathing your weapon?"

Brea looked over to her brother and saw by the matching shade of red on his face, he felt as childish in this woman's presence as she.

Brannock's knife lowered as his eyes rose to meet the woman's. "You're Elvira Winess, aren't you?"

The woman bowed slightly, the smug grin still on her face. "I am."

Brea's head whirled back to the woman. She consciously had to resist the urge to allow her jaw to drop. Elvira Winess was one of the favorites of all the District 2 victors. She had a particular expertise in art, which she had used to her advantage in the Games ten years ago. The arena was designed like a tropical rainforest, so she had an array of plants and fruits to use to disguise herself. She spent the majority of the Games either using the camouflage to stalk groups of tributes or lie in wait for one to pass her by. She continued to hold the title of the highest kill count of any female tribute thus far. To prevent anyone from forgetting this, after becoming a victor, she got tattoos to represent each tribute she killed in the arena. Brea knew they hid under the red paint she had caked on now.

Elvira turned towards the far door and called out, "Come on in, boys."

The door Brannock had been standing in front of opened. Corbinus and a man entered the room.

The black patch that covered the man's left eye caused Brea to recognize him immediately.

Aureus Marr was a Hunger Games legend not only in the eyes of District 2, but also in Panem. He had endured a particularly difficult Games arena, which the Gamemakers had designed in celebration of the twentieth anniversary of the Hunger Games. The Cornucopia, the central location of the arena, was usually stocked with weapons and supplies, but all that the Gamemakers had supplied that year was stacks of food. While this was a initially a relief to the tributes who lived long enough to enjoy the splendors, it was used to attract muttations, species created by the Capitol.

Aureus Marr had killed six tributes, a pack of wolves, a mountain lion, and had been fighting off a black bear by the time he had been declared tribute. This would have been a fantastic feat if he had had Capitol weapons, but Aureus did all of this either bare-handed, with traps, or a hastily-carved spear. Despite the impressive victory, he didn't leave the arena without scars. The worst, from what Brea had seen, was the one that was gruesomely etched down the left half of his face, right through where his left eye used to be.

The Capitol had the capability to heal the scars and make them disappear, but whether through his insistence or their design, Aureus' scars stayed. Their enhancement of his rugged, handsome appearance made Brea guess it was the latter's opinion that was the deciding factor. His one eye was hazel, contrasting sharply with his dark appearance. The fact that it glowered at her and the color was similar to Tip's, Brea had no problem looking away.

Between his unwavering stare and Elvira's lack of clothing, Brea had to search for a safe place to set her gaze.

Corbinus broke the silence by saying, "It would seem your mentors' reputations precede them. Aureus, Elvira, meet Brea and Brannock Lockhart, your tributes."

Elvira walked over to Corbinus, who had a sheer fabric draped over his arm. She kissed his cheek as she took the fabric from him. "We've met."

"And what conclusion did your observations bring you to?"

She eyed Brea as she tied the fabric around herself. "I don't think Miss Lockhart is going to be playing the sultry one this year."

This made Corbinus guffaw good-naturedly. Even Aureus had a quirk of a smile in the corner of his mouth. Brea watched him turn the small smile to Brannock as he reached out a hand. When Brannock took it, Aureus held his other hand out flat, bending his fingers twice in request. After a momentary silent exchange, Brannock handed over the blade and Aureus shook Brannock's hand before releasing it. He began some knifeplay, twirling the blade around his fingers and tossing it in the air and catching it, his eye and smile fixed back on Brea the whole time as he said, "Or the tactical one, it would seem."

Brea had enough of being the source of the room's jokes. "Well done, you guys. You've uncovered information I could have told you myself," she turned to Elvira to add, "even with my clothes on."

Elvira's smile became even more patronizingly arrogant. "She has a mouth. We'll have to work on that."

Before Brea could retort back, Elvira turned to Brannock. "If you're going to start drinking, that's your business. However, I get to cut you off when it's time for interviews."

Aureus added, "Yeah. You won't be getting any from us while in the arena either, so don't even ask."

Brea grimaced. Even Aureus' voice sounded like it had been sliced by razor-sharp claws, hoarse and guttural. It made her think of the cry of an injured, wild animal driven into a corner: hurt, but dangerous.

Brannock's face got even redder as he faced the floor. Corbinus walked over to Brannock and patted him comfortingly on the back. He said, with a note of sobriety, to the mentors, "Easy. It's been a long day for these two."

Brea reflexively smiled at Corbinus. He continued to cause her to question that all Capitol citizens were selfish and empty-headed. He was the only one that she had ever seen treat her and Brannock like what they really were: children, dragged away from their home, dropped into a place that might as well been the bottom of the ocean for how strange it all was to them. He seemed to truly want to help, protect, and guide them.

Brannock said to the mentors sullenly, "Thanks for the heads up."

Corbinus clapped his hands together, signaling that it was time to change topics and lighten the heavy mood. "All right. Who's hungry?"


	19. Chapter 19

The mentors and the twins watched each other silently from across the table. The only sound heard in the room was the scraping of silverware against china plates and the hum of the train barreling down the tracks.

Corbinus gave several attempts at beginning conversations with little success. "So, Brea, what do you think of the train?"

Brea ripped off a chunk of bread like she was a lion ripping off a chunk of its prey. Her appetite had returned. "It'll be interesting to see if I can fall asleep tonight."

"Brannock, how do you like that stew?"

Brannock took a swig of his third glass of a brown liquor and answering flatly, "It's fine." He eyed Elvira, who was staring at him like he was one of the courses being served for dinner.

She had washed the paint off her body and hair, now revealing the soft, golden-blonde tresses that were part of her trademark look. She was wearing a dark green tunic that highlighted her features all the more. She looked as if she was an ethereal being that wandered out of the woods and graced them with her presence. Brea might have fallen victim to her spell like the rest of Panem if it weren't for those tattoos.

They started at her left temple and cascaded down her neck and shoulder. As they caught the light, flecks in the golden ink shimmered, making it impossible to ignore their existence. The tattoos were symbols, representing each individual kill she made. Some made sense to Brea, like the lightning bolt that was dedicated to the girl Elvira had attacked in a thunderstorm. Others were harder to connect with the dead tribute they signified. All of them, to Brea, made Elvira's beauty terrifying.

Corbinus decided to try a different angle. "You two have started quite a chatter up at the Capitol. We haven't even arrived yet and there is already talk of bets being placed on each of you."

The easy manner Corbinus addressed this made Brea stop eating. She hated being reminded that one, if not both of them, weren't going to make it out of the arena alive. Not only that, but he mentioned it with the same casualness as when talking about the train or the stew. She would expect this from Elvira, maybe even Aureus, but the fact that it came from Corbinus made the comment sting all the more. She asked sharply, "Tell me, what are they betting on, Corbinus? Is it who's going to win? Or who's going to die first? Perhaps how we're going to die?"

Aureus asked, around a mouthful of steak, "Something on your mind, Lockhart?" He even ate like an animal.

Brea's gaze found his. His eye watched her in a way that made her look back at her plate, slightly deflated. "I'd just rather not hear about people guessing whether my brother and/or I are going to die, especially while I'm eating."

Corbinus gently replied, "That wasn't what I meant. It's good people are talking about you two so positively. There's prospects of sponsors in it." He reached across to touch her arm, but she refused to give him the chance to console her.

Brea shoved her chair back from the table and stood. "Look, I'll do whatever you need me to do. Play dress-up, wave at crowds, smile at cameras, whatever. Just tell me what to do and keep what you have to do to yourself."

Aureus' voice was firm, but without the cynicism she had known, "Brea, sit down and eat."

She shot a quick glare at Aureus, then looked down at her brother, waiting for him to say something. He was nursing the refilled glass, scowling at his plate dazedly.

Aureus added, his voice gentler now, "It isn't what he meant and you know it."

Brea's eyes stayed steady on Brannock, waiting for him to snap out of this drunken stupor he had trapped himself in. It should be him, not Aureus, talking her down and defending Corbinus. It should be him bringing her back to her senses.

When he did nothing, Brea slowly sat back into her seat and began moving her food from one side of her plate to the other.

Elvira commented, "Tell me, Brannock, has your sister always been so easily...heated?" Her tone suggested that they could have been having this conversation at a candlelit dinner for two, as if Brea was in the next room or in another district, not sitting at the same table.

This caused Brannock to look up from his glass. "For as long as I can remember." He have a half-hearted laugh as he recalled, "The woman who delivered us said that she came into the world making a racket and has been doing so ever since."

Elvira laughed, in the way a person laughs when they trick their pet dog into running after a ball that is still in their hand. "Oh, that's good. We should work that into your interview somehow."

"Since we're talking business, which of you is mentoring who?" Brea asked as she swirled her mixed vegetables in mashed potatoes. She wanted to remove the subject of conversation off of her and, even more so, shut Elvira up.

The three looked at one another, then all at her. Corbinus stated, "It depends on what you two would like: train together or separately?"

Brea answered quickly, "Together." They all turned to Brannock, who was staring at his now empty glass. He reached for the bottle and said, his words beginning to run together, "Sure. Why not?"

Brea watched her hands twist the cloth napkin in her lap, trying to ignore the stinging behind her eyes.

Elvira replied smoothly, "Then, Aureus and I will assist each other as we help you. We may do individual sessions," she eyed Brannock as she said this, "to prepare you for your individual events, such as your televised interviews and private sessions with the Gamemakers, but otherwise, we'll do it together."

Corbinus added humbly, "And of course, you'll have to share me."

Brea let a smile slip as she looked up, then it fell as she saw Corbinus' soft eyes on her. She shouldn't have treated Corbinus the way she did earlier. Out of the three, he had been around the Games the longest and from what she had seen, always did his best job with the tributes from their district. Besides, she liked him the most out of the group. She mouthed to him, "Sorry."

He kindly winked at her in reply, then popped a piece of steaming broccoli into his mouth.

After the mentors had eaten and it was clear neither Brea or Brannock would be taking another bite, Corbinus stood and said, "Let's go see how the other Reapings went."


	20. Chapter 20

As they traveled down the cars, Brea noticed Brannock's stride slightly deviating back and forth. The smell of the alcohol cart trailed behind him, making Brea's eyes and throat burn from the fumes. Her first instinct was to wrap an arm around him and help guide him the rest of the way, but his nonchalance at dinner kept her where she was. Let him trip and fall. Maybe his head would hit something hard and knock some sense back in him.

As if reading her mind, Elvira slipped by Brea and slid her arm through the crook of his arm and led him to the car where they would watch the Reapings. Brea grit her teeth and stared straight ahead.

The car was roomy with a television that took up half of the train's wall space. Plush furniture was arranged in a half-circle around the screen and everyone took their seats.

Brannock fell heavily into a couch covered in an unfamiliar animal's fur. As Brea sat beside him, she stroked the soft pelt. It was white with black speckles throughout it, the fur long enough for her to stick her fingers down in it as she stroked it. If, for any reason, her bed was uncomfortable, she decided she would come sleep on this couch tonight.

She noticed a stack of discs on the table. They were in cases, labeled with numbers. As Brea followed the numbers, she assumed they referred to districts, but as they exceeded past twelve and ended at twenty-four, Brea realized they were recordings of each Hunger Games thus far. She eyed the disc marked "#7", knowing it was her father's year in the Hunger Games.

Before she could ask about them, Elvira distracted her by fitting her slender body in between the twins and sitting down. Her curves grazed against Brea, making her suddenly very aware of how flat she was everywhere Elvira wasn't. She hated how the mentor made her feel inferior without even saying a word. She moved until she wasn't touching anything of Elvira's anymore.

Elvira draped an arm lazily over the top of the couch, which so happened to rest behind Brannock's shoulders. Brea was about to say something about it when the television came to life and all eyes fell onto the screen.

The first faces Brea saw were the announcers who told Panem that Brea and Brannock been had ranked first in their district. The memory, combined with their chipper, brightly-painted faces, left a bitter taste in Brea's mouth.

As the recaps of each district's Reapings played on the screen, Aureus, Elvira, and Corbinus would comment on the different tributes, assessing why they might have been chosen.

District 1 and 4's tributes were clearly voted because of their intimidating looks and, most likely, skills to match. Brea knew that an alliance being made with them was highly probable. It was the strategy of every Games she had every watched and studied: the Careers, the name dubbed by the outside districts for the tributes of 1, 2, and 4, picked off the other tributes, then turned on one another.

As she studied them, they reminded her of beasts, pacing their cages, awaiting being released to hunt. In Games past, she had seen the grotesque acts the Career group was capable of. They had plastered Panem to their screens by drawing out a death to the point of torture. While their victims would cry, scream, call for help, or even ask for death, they would laugh and taunt them until the group grew bored and finished their prey off. The thought that she would be have to associate with that same blood-lustful crew was revolting.

Brea wanted to reach for Brannock's hand to steady her mind and remind herself why she would stomach everything she would have to do in the Games, but Elvira blocked her way. She compromised by clutching a fistful of the couch's fur.

Other districts' tributes were harder to decipher why they were chosen. They didn't appear strong or skilled. Most had thin faces, carved out by hunger, and dirty clothes that hung loosely onto their bodies. Brea noted, with a pang of pity in her stomach, that they already looked like corpses.

The boy from District 5 was particularly memorable in Brea's mind. It wasn't that his body was lean and his hair pieced together in dark, greasy clumps from days of being unwashed that made her brand his name in her mind. No, it was his eyes. They flitted around, never staying in one place for long. When they landed on the camera fixed on his face, a shiver ran down Brea's back. His eyes were dark like Rena's and just as cunning in nature. He pulled back his lips into a maniacal smile.

Brannock whispered, not to anyone in particular, "I would have voted him into the Games too. He gives me the creeps."

Brea nodded warily. The Games hadn't even started yet and she was already looking forward to seeing Cal's face projected in the arena sky.

District 2's recap had been saved for last, probably because it was the most interesting. Twins being voted for the same Games would be the bow to wrap up the first event of the first Quart Quell.

When it started, the room fell silent. Brea watched her brother get called and the cameras panned over to her to capture her reaction. She hated how vulnerable she looked. Any other sibling of a District 2 tribute would have been cheering along with the rest of the crowd, but the fact she was so still made her stand out from the rest of the district all the more.

When her name was called, Brannock's reaction was captured. Her throat tightened at seeing the tears forming in his eyes, knowing they weren't from joy like he would have the audience believe. Between the two, he had put on a better performance.

Aureus voiced her thoughts. "You two didn't give us much to work with."

Brannock muttered sullenly, "Sorry."

Brea stiffened. "I'm not."

Every eye in the room was on her. "Think about it: my twin brother just got called and now, I learn we're both going to be in the Games. One, or both of us, aren't going to make it out of this thing. I'm too in shock, out of the love for my brother, to be able to celebrate the incredible honor of being chosen." The last sentence was dripping with sarcasm, though it held a lot of truth. She had been in shock. The last thing she was thinking about was how Panem would interpret her reaction.

Elvira countered, her voice factual and superior, "You're wrong, Brea."


	21. Chapter 21

Brea opened her mouth to argue, but Elvira cut her off, "You dont know what is going to happen in that arena. The fact alone that you are from District 2 means that you or Brannock have a very good chance of winning, not to mention your training and probable skill. That is statistics talking, dear."

Brea stared at her feet, her hands balled up into fists. Elvira wasn't saying anything she didn't already know.

Elvira leaned in. "And never, under any circumstance, do you say that you are going to die in that arena. Never."

Brea met her eyes, hoping all of the anger inside her would burn a hole into Elvira, perhaps even cause her golden hair to burst into flames. Elvira, however, calmly held her gaze. If Brea's malice was at all felt, she didn't notice it on Elvira's face.

Her mentor continued, "The quickest way to ensure you or your brother don't survive in that arena is to let everyone in Panem know you think you will die. I assure you, no sponsor is going to waste their money on someone who thinks they are as good as dead."

The room was silent, awaiting Brea's response. She didn't have to give one though, as she was interrupted by an announcer yelling, "Did you see that?"

Brea's eyes found the screen and saw she and Rena glaring at one another. The clip they were playing was of their conversation before the Reaping began. The screen was divided, one camera on her face and the other on Rena's. Though Brea knew they had to have been several yards away, they looked as if they were a couple of feet from their faces. The clip had been slowed down to show Brea's mouth saying, "Don't mess with me when it comes to my family". Though the words weren't audible, each one was distinctly seen and their collective message conveyed.

Corbinus placed a hand over his mouth to cover a smile as he turned towards Brea. Aureus turned towards her, a smile quirking in the corner of his mouth again. "That's more like it."

Brea stood, stunned. "I didn't know they were recording me. The Reaping hadn't even started yet."

"Being the top-ranked female in the district and the daughter of a victor earns you a camera as a shadow, Brea", Corbinus stated proudly.

"Lucky for us", mused Aureus.

Elvira smiled amusingly, still staring at the screen. "Whenever you open your mouth, it is going to be from that mindset right there. That you are going to live...for as long as it takes to keep your brother alive."

Brannock suddenly stood. "I'm going to bed." He marched out of the room, snatching up a bottle of white liquor on his way out.

Brea started to follow after him, but Elvira's hand shot out and grabbed onto Brea's wrist. Brea was shocked at how strong her grip was. When she met her eyes, Brea saw that the tattoos matched the bright gleam in Elvira's gaze. Her demeanor of a dainty, feminine woman made Brea forget that she was also a cunning, Games victor.

Elvira stated, "Let him go."

Brea managed to yank her hand out of Elvira's grip, but she stayed put. "Why'd you have to say that in front of him?"

"Isnt that why you're here?"

There was an accusation in her tone that made Brea wilt. It would seem her father's interference wasn't a mystery to everyone. In fact, he may have even orchestrated for the two favorites of District 2's victors to be her and Brannock's mentors. It wasn't outside the realm of possibility or his influence.

She replied stiffly, "He doesn't know that."

Elvira's brown eyes peered through her long lashes up at Brea, softening slightly. "I know. In fact, he's probably going to tell us to do all that we can to save you."

Her heart jumped. It was like standing in front of her father again, begging for her brother's life to be saved and hers sacrificed. Would her request be denied now like it was then?

Elvira's eyes remained steady on her as she continued, "We can't have it both ways, Brea. There can only be one victor."

"Choose him then."

The weight of her words jarred Brea and she fled from the room. She heard Aureus stand and call after her, but Brea just sprinted harder.

There was nothing that he could say that would ease the pain of knowing her days were numbered, that they would be spent acting like someone she wasn't, that the person she was trying to save might already be lost.

She felt trapped. There was nowhere she could go without a Captiol attendant being there, awaiting to do her bidding. It took bursting through three cars before realizing that that included telling them to leave. She did so in the next car and they quickly exited.

She paced the length of the car, sobbing and trying to catch her breath all at once. The walls were closing in, the air in the room was muggy, and no matter how much she flexed her hands, they wouldn't stop shaking.

She needed air, fresh air, that wasn't breathed by the same people who had entrapped and enslaved her to the Games. She pounded on a window with her fists, with a table leg she broke off, with a chair, but the glass fractures wouldn't release each other. They wouldn't release her.

She didn't hear the sound of the tranquilizer leaving the gun, but she felt it stick into her back. She screamed and yanked the dart out, but the medication was already taking its toll. Her legs buckled and she fell to her knees. She struggled to focus, her eyes trying to watch the blood seeping out of her busted knuckles. As she began to collapse onto her back, she felt someone catch her in their arms.

She looked up and saw three Peacekeepers looming over her, one holding a gun she vaguely connected as a tranquilizer gun. There was another face though, much closer than the Peacekeepers'. She had to squint to rid the fuzziness of the features, but after a moment, recognized Aureus' face a few inches from hers.

The Peacekeepers stepped back, but Aureus continued watching her with an expression she hadn't seen on him before. She didn't like looking at it because it made her feel sad, so she traced a small scar etched on the right side of his jaw. Her tongue felt heavy, and she tasted the salt in her tears, as she mumbled, "It isn't fair."

She was lifted up and was being carried away somewhere. She hoped she could stay in Aureus' arms, wherever they were taking her. They were strong and warm, surrounding her in what felt less like a cage and more like a safeguard. She nustled up to his chest and fell to the mercy of the medication before she heard him whisper into her hair, "I know."


	22. Chapter 22

Brea hardly ever remembered her dreams. The few that stuck to her memory were only nightmares. This nightmare she had her first night on the train would join those not easily forgotten.

She had been running down a beach. Her breathing and body were heavy with exhaustion, as if she had been running at this sprinting pace for a while. Sweat was stinging her eyes as they frantically searched for an escape route. She knew something was chasing her, but didn't know what. As she began to turn her head to see her pursuer, a foreboding feeling warned her to face back to the front, that she wouldn't like what she saw. She hesitated for a moment, but her curiosity won out.

She turned and saw her father. Not as she knew him now, but when he was her age and a tribute. The same crystal blue eyes, and in them the familiar loathing, were trained on her, along with the spear he was carrying with him. She couldn't tear her eyes away as he halted and bellowed as he threw the spear at her. She watched it fly, the tip aimed at her heart. She wanted to dodge out of its trajectory, but her body refused to veer from its course. Just as the spearhead was about to meet its mark, she awoke.

A sharp rap on the bedroom door made her rush to her feet, ready to face whatever was trying to gain entry. Then a voice called out, "Time to get up, Brea! We have a full day ahead of us!"

Corbinus. The name was unearthed from her half-awake mind. Corbinus was outside of her door. Her bedroom door on the train. The train heading to the Capitol. The Capitol was forcing her to take part in the Hunger Games.

Everything flooded back into her memory and Brea fell back onto the bed. Her heart was still pounding and she noticed now that she, and the clothes she had slept in from the day before, were soaked in sweat.

It was when she wiped at the sweat on her forehead that she first noticed the scratchy bandages wrapped around her hands.

She shot back up and frantically tore off the bandages, fearing what lie beneath them. However, all that was revealed were small scabs dotting her knuckles. She could smell the minty scent of the healing salve that covered her knuckles. As she flexed her hands, fuzzy memories from the previous night became clear.

Her stomach dropped. She had lost control of herself and had thus been subdued by Peacekeepers. Brea never thought about Peacekeepers riding on the tribute's train and the idea made her feel as if she was being watched.

Feeling vulnerable and weak, she stripped off her clothes and made her way to the shower connected to her room. She stood under the cool water, allowing it to fully wake her and clear her head. When she was finally alert, she decided to experiment with the different settings in the shower. The one at home had limited options, whereas this one offered endless choices. By the time she walked out of her room, the smell of honey and wildflowers trailed behind her.

When she entered the car where the table was set, she saw everyone had already begun to eat. Brannock was buttering a piece of toast, Corbinus was wearing a pair of glasses as he read from different papers spread out across his section of the table, and Elvira and Aureus quietly conversed between themselves.

When Brea saw Aureus, she stopped in her tracks. The sight of him awoke the memory of his arms cradling her last night. She now could assume it was he who carried her back to her room and first-aided her beaten knuckles.

Her cheeks grew hot as she quickly stared at the floor. She loathed herself for putting herself at his mercy. He must have thought her utterly useless and infantile.

Another thought crossed her mind and her horror deepened. If everyone else hadn't heard her breakdown themselves, he would have told them about it this morning. Her heat sank, visualizing Elvira making some scathing comment and Corbinus gazing at her disappointedly. She didn't know which was worse.

She stiffly sat down in the open place setting, awaiting the onslaught. Corbinus noticed her first, glancing up from his papers and at her over his glasses. She braced herself.

"How'd you sleep?"

Brea heard the rest of the room pause as they became aware of her. Brea met Corbinus' eyes, searching for the insinuation in them, but saw nothing except his mild attention. He elaborated, "You had said the train might keep you up yesterday."

She looked over at Elvira, and saw the same thing. No disappointment, no chastisement, nothing out of the ordinary. She purred, "I personally always sleep like a baby on this thing."

Brea's eyes wandered to Aureus, wondering if she had imagined last night, but his focus was lasered in on buttering the steaming biscuit in his hand.

Brea spluttered, "I slept fine" and hastily grabbed the closest piece of food. It wasn't until she took a bite that she saw it was a roll, cinnamon twisted throughout the dough and dripping with vanilla icing.

As Corbinus and Elvira entered a conversation about their sleeping patterns on the trains versus their own beds, Brea quietly nibbled on the roll and mulled over the situation.

She didn't understand what was happening. They should be telling her how poorly she represented the district last night and that her father would be ashamed if he knew about her meltdown, not comparing bed mattresses.

What if they didn't reprove her because they didn't know about her breakdown? The Peacekeepers has obviously known about it, but would they keep it to themselves? If so, why? Then, a thought arose that seemed too impossible to consider: if Corbinus and Elvira didn't know about the breakdown, that meant that not only were the Peacekeepers withholding the information, so was Aureus.

She risked a glance in his direction. He was nodding and making affirming grunts in the direction of Elvira's and Corbinus' conversation as he chewed furiously. If Brea didn't know any better, he was intentionally doing everything but look in her direction.

Feeling confused, she turned her attention to Brannock. She thought he may have heard her last night, but he gave no indication of it. In fact, he acted like she wasn't even there. He kept alternating between eating small bites of toast and scrambled egg, sipping brown alcohol directly from the bottle, and rubbing at his temples.

She was furious. He was obviously suffering from the effects of last night's consumption, yet he still continued to drown himself in the drink. This reeking, cynical person sitting beside her wasn't the Brannock she knew. Back in District 2, he would have come to her and they would have sat on the floor in her room and talked for hours. She would have told him about her meltdown and he whatever was eating at him. While she could understand that there was a lot to process, she knew that for him to survive this, for her to survive long enough to protect him, that his mind needed to be his again. If they were going to make it, they needed to do so together.

She wasn't going to allow him to slip away so easily.


	23. Chapter 23

"I had a nightmare last night, Brannock. Want to know what it was about?"

The room quieted. Brannock slowly faced his sister. His eyes were puffy and tinged red, the beginnings of bags appearing underneath them. They glared at her resentfully, already detecting what she was trying to do. Brannock took a long swig from the bottle in retaliation. That'd show her, trying to steal away the one thing he still had control over. If they were going to force him to participate in the Games, he wouldn't pretend for them that he was happy about it. "Do I have a choice?"

Brea grimaced, but continued, "Dad was chasing me. Only, he was our age. He threw a spear at me." She forced herself to say it all as if she was speaking about the weather, but in reality, her hands were becoming clammy by the recall.

He swirled the bottle around, stirring up the contents and causing the air between them to be heavy with the aroma of liquor and tension. "Did he manage to kill you?"

Brea forced the nausea down, refusing to be defeated by the influence of her dream or her brother's offenses. "I woke up before it hit its mark."

He sneered and drank. "Lucky you", he replied, as he came up from a particularly long drag. The bottle had only a couple of swallows left in it.

Brea wondered how much more she could bear of this before she either sank into madness or punched her brother in his tear-stained face until she broke her hand.

Corbinus asked quietly, attempting to break the building anger between the siblings, "Your dream sounds very similar to how your father won his year in the Games, Brea. Did you study it much?"

Brannock snorted bitterly, turning back to his plate. "Something like that. He forced us to sit down and watch it every year on the anniversary of his victory. We'd have to take notes and everything."

One of Elvira's perfectly-shaped eyebrows rose up. "Is that so?"

Brea, still willing herself to face the shell of her brother, answered, "He'd tell us the names of the tributes as they were killed, what he was thinking during each clip they show of him, give us tips in case we ever found ourselves in the same situation when we one day entered the Games."

Brea was able to admit to herself that she hoped she shocked them with the peek into her and Brannock's homelife. The room was quiet enough to believe she had, at least, given them something to think about. She could feel the weight of her mentors' and escort's reactions, a conglomeration of pity, confusion, and sympathy. She refused to acknowledge them by meeting their gazes, but wondered what her mentors' own childhoods were like. Did they undergo even half of the intense training that she and Brannock had endured? She was sure Corbinus hadn't had tributes with a training history like hers and Brannock's. She had never known a family that trained as hard as she and Brannock did. Even among District 2, they were considered extremists.

Corbinus stated softly, "It would seem your father was very passionate about preparing you two."

Brannock countered, as he let the fork he was using clatter onto his plate, "He's passionate about protecting the Lockhart name." He grabbed a new bottle off of the nearby cart and opened his hand towards the attendant beside it. When the attendant didn't hand over the corkscrew, Brannock shoved the bottle in their face. After it was opened, he tipped his head and the bottle back.

"Well," Corbinus replied, as he worriedly eyed Brannock, "we care about protecting you, not just your name. Shall we start doing so?" He gestured to the sheets of paper in front of him.

Brea watched her brother, then broke her gaze to nod at Corbinus. She could see this conversation wasn't doing anything to bring Brannock back to her. She'd have to come up with a better plan.

She asked, "When are we going to arrive at the Capitol?"

"This afternoon." Corbinus referred to the papers in front of him, then added, "The first thing on our docket is for you to meet your stylists."

Brea grimaced. "Elyria and Lucia?"

She had seen the work of the District 2 stylists on tributes of years past. Tattoos, surgical enhancements and accessories, dyes, and wigs were only some of the tools they used on their tributes. District 2's main industry was masonry, so most of the outfits centered around stone. There were a few years that they made the tributes look striking, but most of the time, they looked like dolls Capitol children would play with. Brea hoped that this year, she wouldn't join the collection.

Corbinus smiled at her and Brea wondered if she detected a hint of sympathy hidden within it. "Why, yes. This is their fifth year actually."

"Great. Another thing to celebrate." Brannock spat out.

That voice wasn't her brother's. It was too harsh, too bitter, too unforgiving. It was too similar to another's voice that still rang in Brea's ears. That still roared in her head. That haunted her in her dreams.

Brea snatched the bottle out of Brannock's hand and sent it soaring at the drink cart. It, and the rest of the cart's contents, shattered. The floor was painted with splatters of alcohol and shining pieces of glass.

When Brannock spun away from the mess Brea had made and faced her, she saw his fury. Not the unreignable fury she had seen her father wear, but the kind that was altogether new on Brannock's face. It raged at her for stealing away his solice and sequestering him with what he refused to face. It was a fury that was covered in fear.

"Come with me." Brea yanked him up and dragged him out of the car. Normally, Brannock would have easily resisted, but his surprise at his sister's sudden ferocity brought him to his feet and caused him to stumble after her.

The mentors and escort were left behind. They were smart enough to know that they shouldn't try to stop Brea and perhaps, even wanted her to succeed in retrieving her brother from the pity he was burying himself in.


	24. Chapter 24

"Brea!" A pause and a frustrated sigh was followed by another "Brea!"

She could hear Brannock, but she pretended not to. The sound of blood rushing in her ears has quieted from a roar to a steady pulse, but her face was still flushed with heat. She was still incredibly angry and she wasn't going to let him off easily. She continued dragging him down the train cars.

The twins made it three cars down before Brannock managed to yank himself out of Brea's grasp. "What do you want?"

She whipped around to face him, the tip of her nose grazing his. "I want you to get a grip!"

Brannock shook his head, a bitter smile on his face. His breath was heavy with alcohol, stinging Brea's eyes. "Aren't you a piece of work."

The words stung. She was usually the one who dealt the biting words, not Brannock.

She eyed the two attendants scurrying out of the train car. She hoped they weren't going to round up the Peacekeepers she had met last night. Just in case, she decided to take the kid gloves off with Brannock. They didn't have time for niceties anymore.

"No, you're the one who's a piece of work!" She stepped back to gesture to his clothes and face. "Look at you! You smell awful and look even worse! You aren't yourself!"

Brannock's jaw began sawing back and forth. Brea took a breath and tried to soften the edge out of her voice, "Look, I understand that this whole situation isn't optimal-"

Brannock snapped, "Are you kidding me? Optimal?" He whispered hoarsely, "Brea, one of us is going to die! Maybe both of us! Don't you understand that?"

She threw her hands up, exasperated. "Yes! Yes, I do! I've understood what the Games meant for anyone who stepped into that arena for years!" She poked him in the chest. "What I don't understand is why you are having such a hard time accepting that! You're the one that has been wanting to be in the Games practically since infancy!"

He stepped back, a sad smile formed on his face. Brea watched her brother's anger wither into cynicism. "Is it too late to change my mind?", he asked emptily.

Brea's anger vanished at the sound of pain in his voice. It left behind pity for her brother, the one who was being tortured by a truth she had already known. Every year, on Reaping Day, she had suffered with the knowledge that she or Brannock could be dead people walking. This year, it was Brannock's turn to see behind the Games' guise of fame and honor. She had to give him what he could never give her back then: patience.

She breathed in deeply and said, "We have been trained for this for our entire lives, Bran. Not only that, but we have each other. That is more than any of those other tributes have."

His eyes met hers, his face grave, "And what happens if it comes down to you and I, Brea? Who makes the call on who lives and who dies?"

Brea was silent. Her plan was to do all she could to make sure Brannock made it to the end. If it was down to them two, she hoped the Capitol would step up and kill her themselves.

She knew that was asking too much of them though. A face-off between the Lucky Lockhart's would glue Panem to their screens. It was too heart-wrenching, too captivating of a fight to be tarnished by a quick, merciful kill at the hands of the Gamemakers. No, the only way Brea was going to die would be by a tribute, an element of the arena, or by Brannock himself. The thought made her mouth dry.

However, she knew she could tell him none of this. She knew Brannock's mind enough to know that for him to survive, he had to believe she was trying to survive too.

"We don't know what is going to happen in that arena. If we dwell on the what if's, we'll never be able to fight what's right in front of us. All we can do is try our best to survive." She gently took his hand. "I need you to be there, fully there, to watch my back in the arena", she added, her voice catching, "I cannot do this without you, Bran."

His eyes were downcast, but she saw the tears fall from them and land on the carpet below their feet.

He said haltingly, "It's all so unfair."

She then wrapped her arms around him. This Brannock, she knew. This Brannock was the brother she loved. "I know."

His arms tightly wound around her as he sobbed into her shoulder. She refused to let her own tears fall however. She had gotten them out of her system last night. All that remained within her was hatred for their situation and love for her brother.

After he had soaked Brea's shirt with tears and snot, Brannock mused into her shoulder, "I used to think you were selfish, not wanting to be in the Games, but I see now that I was the selfish one. I was so ready to make everyone I love feel like this, just so I could become a victor."

She hugged him tighter, wanting to relieve her brother of the pain that bore so heavily on him. "It was how we were trained to think."

His chuckle was congested. "You never did."

She returned the laugh as she released him, "That's because I hate being told what to do."

He sniffed, wiping at his nose as he straightened. "Well, get back in that dining car, Miss Lockhart. We have a couple of mentors and an escort probably missing us terribly."

For the first time since boarding the train, when Brannock met her eyes, Brea saw the glimmer of their familiar brightness reflecting back at her. Brannock was coming back.


	25. Chapter 25

As they made their way back to the dining car, Brea trailed behind Brannock, watching him. She noticed a difference in him, but was unable to put a finger on it. It took traveling down another car for her to realize that his body language had changed. He now stood straighter and strode with purpose in each step, an invisible burden slowly easing off of his mind. Her body unconsciously followed suit, a burden of her own being lifted at the thought.

She knew though, in the back of her mind, that Brannock would never be the same again. They hadn't stepped in the arena yet, but Brea knew that the moment their names had been called, they had left their old selves behind in District 2. She pushed away the thought, resisting the temptation to dwell on what might be left of Brannock when he returned to the district and how much of the self she knew in District 2 would be stripped away before she met her end in the arena.

Partly to lighten the mood between she and Brannock, and partly to distract her own mind, Brea called to Brannock, "Speaking of our mentors, I think Elvira is infatuated with you."

Brannock shook his head, but Brea noticed the hint of blush arise on his cheeks. "Nah. It's just her act."

Brea raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"It's her persona, the thing that makes her Elvira Winess. Remember watching her tape in school?"

"Like it was on a loop."

He stopped, turning towards her, "Then, you know that was her strategy. She was alluring, seductive, made everyone either in love with her or think she was too into herself to be a threat. It gave her an edge over the other tributes because she was showered in gifts from sponsors and was underestimated by the competition."

Brea paused, chewing on the analysis. She knew that tributes would play up being intimidating, weak, sexy, and the like to either rope in sponsors and allies or to fool their competitors. They studied these very tactics and their effectiveness in school. She wondered why Elvira would keep up the act though, now that everyone saw who she really was when she was in the arena. She voiced the question to Brannock.

He shrugged. "It's probably her defense mechanism now. Fool people into believing she's shallow or desirable and their guards are likely to come down." He paused for a moment, then added, "She might not even remember being anything else."

Brea remembered her and Brannock's conversation in the dining car when they first encountered Elvira. She recalled her answer to their wondering what the Games would do to them. "Time will tell, won't it?" Brea wondered if Elvira had asked herself the same question as she faced her year in the Games. Was she always a manipulator or did she become so to survive?

Brannock sent a smirk Brea's way. "I'm surprised you haven't noticed how much Aureus has had his eye on you."

It was Brea's turn to blush. She debated telling him about the previous night and Aureus' role in it, but decided against it. She didn't want him to worry about the possible repercussions of her breakdown, but something else in her wanted to protect the moment between her and Aureus from any jokes or opinions Brannock might have to offer. At the memory of Aureus staring down at her as he held her, she shivered.

Aware Brannock was watching her, she waved off the comment as nonchalantly as she could, "I've noticed how much he seems to hate everything he looks at. He never stops glaring."

"Yeah, he does. When he's looking at you." Brannock smiled ruefully.

When she said nothing, he added mischievously, "I had thought about telling him off if we ever got a moment alone." He stood straighter and furrowed his eyebrows as if playing out the scene. "Now listen here, Aureus. I don't care what you did with those hands in the arena, not a finger is going to touch my sister."

Brea shoved him into the next car, which happened to be the dining car. He burst through the door and Brea watched each person's reactions as she stumbled in after him: Corbinus shooting onto his feet, Aureus snatching up a carving knife out of a half-eaten ham, and Elvira pulling a throwing knife out of the folds of her dress.

Brea burst out laughing. She couldn't help it. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she fell to her knees, covering her mouth to try to hold back the unreigned emotion. She wondered if the emotions from the past few days were culminating into the form of belly-aching laugher. She hadn't laughed like this in years and, though it initially scared her, she realized that it felt amazing.

The room, including Brannock, all watched her wide-eyed. When she would try to speak, she'd see one of their faces and begin a whole new wave of laughter. By the time she had been able to make herself stop, Elvira had her arms crossed and was tapping her foot. She huffed, "Finally. I thought you had lost your mind."

Brea was able to allow only a tight-lipped smile to break through. "You should have seen your guys' faces."

Elvira stared at her for a moment, then threw up her hands, stuffed her knife back in its unforeseen sheath among her dress, and plopped down into her seat. Aureus stabbed the ham with the knife, the point thrusting through to the other side.

Corbinus smoothed down his shirt and said, "Well, now that we're all awake, shall we finish our meal?"

As they ate, Corbinus resumed his breakdown of the day for the twins, but Brea was dividing her attention between him and the mentors. An exchange of mood occurred between the twins and the mentors as they continued their meals. While Brea and Brannock conversed with Corbinus, Elvira and Aureus had become moody and silent.

Brea observed the two out of the corner of her eye. Elvira stabbed at pieces of fruit with a fork and snatched them off the prongs with her teeth, any veil of daintiness removed. Aureus sawed at his meat so viciously, Brea wondered if he'd cut his plate in half as well.

She was about to address them, but a glaring light in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She saw, through one of the windows, a city in the distance.

Brannock noticed her distraction and followed her gaze. A moment later, Corbinus did the same.

"Ah, right on time."

Brannock asked dazedly, "Is that..."

The rest of the question was unspoken, but Corbinus understood.

"Yes. That is the Capitol."


	26. Chapter 26

They entered the Capitol that afternoon.

Brea had floated to the window, drawn by an overwhelming need to get a closer look. She felt Brannock brush up beside her and knew he was as enraptured as she.

Everyone back in District 2 talked about the Capitol like it was a paradise, distant and incomprehensibly beautiful. Pristine streets, lavish clothing, endless trays of food. Now, as she stared at the place she had only heard of, she saw that the rumors hardly captured the extravagance of it all.

The sun glistened on the city, causing Brea to squint and raise a hand to ward off the reflected sunlight. As she peered under her hand, she watched the sun touch the lush greenery that lined the cobble-stone streets, bringing out hues of colors she had never seen. Greens were richer, blues deeper, reds more fiery. Every color she thought she knew seemed dull compared to the brilliance she now beheld.

She saw Capitol citizens, swirls of paint swimming and mixing in between buildings and each other. Structures and towers, both complete and in-progress, etched a striking skyline against the clear blue sky. Television screens were littered all over the city, broadcasting clips, interviews, and advertisements all for the Games. As they grew closer, she saw people eating and drinking, laughing as if they hadn't a care in the world.

They didn't. How could they? When she had shaken Corbinus' hand, she had felt its softness, its unfamiliarity with a weapon or work. What cares could he and his people know, besides planning parties and losing their money on bets during the Games?

She rubbed at her palm. She knew the feel of callouses and cracked skin. Her body knew lacerations, bruises, and scars. They were District 2's day-to-day. Between the quarry workers, Peacekeepers, and children training for the Hunger Games, they all knew what it was like for their blood to be drawn for the sake of the Capitol.

She thought of the hands she knew. Brannock's hands were strong, but gentle. Her father's hands had been as rough as the way he handled her. Tip's were feminine and comforting. Rena's were hardened and scarred. A fuzzy recollection of the strength and warmth of Aureus' hands wrapped around her was surfaced, then suppressed.

As Brea gazed at the forming crowds as their train pulled deeper into the city, she began to see evidence of the districts among them. The Capitol was dressed with the fruits of all of their labors: agriculture, power, textiles, lumber, luxury, masonry. The districts' tears, sweat, and blood was the Capitol's wardrobe. They were slathered in it.

She hated them all for it.

She backed away from the window and hid in her room until a knock rapped on her door.

"Brea..." Brannock's voice was soothing, but it had the edge of a warning in it. She heard the sound of plastic scraping against gun metal and understood why: Peacekeepers. If she didn't come out, they'd drag her out.

"I'm coming."

She opened the door and Brannock stood there, his face fixed in a smile. Peacekeepers circled around them, silent as they assessed whether she would be cooperative or not. She turned to one and said flatly, "Lead the way."

They turned and escorted her to where the group was waiting. Elvira, who had tied an ornate red fabric around her to resemble a dress, fussed with Aureus' hair. He was allowing it, but continued to wear the unpleased grimace from breakfast. In fact, they both did.

Corbinus smiled at the twins when they entered the car. "There you are! Putting together some last-minute touches before meeting the cameras, Brea? Good girl."

He said all of this is such a rush that all Brea could do was nod. Again, Corbinus was looking out for her. How could such a kind person dually live off of the other districts without a single inkling of the injustice?

He ushered them forward, placing himself between them and the Peacekeepers. He rested a hand on each of their shoulders. "Now, all you need to do is smile and wave. If you are asked any questions, just smile and wave in response. Questions are going to have to wait until the televised interviews." He cocked his head to the door. Brea could hear the excited chatter and bustling as the Capitol citizens awaited to see them. "Also, hold hands. They'll go wild for it." He raised his eyebrows. "Now, what are you going to do?"

Brea and Brannock exchanged a glance and answered in unison. "Smile and wave."

"Spot on." He winked at them and turned to the Peacekeepers. "We're ready now."

The Peacekeepers opened the doors. Cheers and applause spilled forth like a wave crashing on land, causing Brea to step back in shock. So many eyes were trained on her and these strangers greeted her as if they were old friends. Through their eyes, they probably felt as if they knew as much about her as an old friend would: District 2 citizen, trained fighter, daughter of a victor, sister of a tribute, a tribute herself.

She caught a glimpse of one of the Peacekeepers out of the corner of her eye. She wondered if they were originally from the Capitol or her district. Perhaps even a Capitol citizen paying off debt. If she could see their face, would she know them? Was there anything that resembled sympathy in those hidden eyes?

They stared at her, then stiffly gestured a hand out, as if to say, "After you".

She straightened her back and replied with a cool gaze. Her question was answered. She grabbed a hold of Brannock's hand, reminding herself that she could hope for no help and no friendship outside of Brannock. It was he and she against the other tributes, against the Captiol, against Panem.

She faced the crowds with a new energy and resolve. Oh, she'd smile. She'd wave and she'd act happy to see them. She'd play the part and she would do it well. She'd show them that they wouldn't deter her from her mission, no matter how they tried.

Let them cheer her on. Let them call out her name. She'd make sure they remembered it. Brea Lockhart, the tribute who bowed to no one. The one who didn't go out without a fight.


	27. Chapter 27

The first thing Brea saw once she and the rest of the group were safe inside the building was a blur of glitter as she was tackled into an embrace. She instinctively raised her hands to defend herself against the attack until she saw the face inches from her.

Elyria was covered in glitter. Her eyelashes and cheeks had flecks dispersed throughout, her lips had several large jewels stuck on them, and her dress gleamed, catching every light in the room. Her head was shrouded in a wig, made up of hundreds of thin pieces of glittering paper.

"Hello, darling! Oh! I have been aching to meet you ever since I watched you walk onto that stage. Oh! I saw your face and just had a rush of inspiration! I am brimming with ideas for your makeup and costumes!"

Brea looked to Brannock for help and saw a wide grin on his face. He knew that there were very few people she would allow to even touch her, let alone hug the life out of her. If her face looked as shocked as she felt, she knew it must have been a sight.

Elyria followed Brea's gaze and went into a whole new fit as she dashed over to Brannock. Brea grinned smugly as she saw his eyes widen at the oncoming assault.

Elyria gripped his arms, his jaw, ran her hands through his hair, and down his face as she gasped, "Oh! When I saw you, my heart broke at the thought of not being able to personally handle that sharp chin. Oh! And those broad shoulders! You look as if you have been sculpted!"

Her own eyes widened and she began excitedly muttering to herself as she flew back to the group standing a few yards behind her. She was handed a notebook, which she began sketching on as she skittered away.

Another woman meekly stepped towards the pair, her hands clasped in front of her. She wore glitter too, but it was more muted than Elyria's ensemble. Glitter was streaked in her hair and dotted over her nose and cheeks like freckles. Brea recognized her as well.

She said softly, "Hello. Welcome to the Capitol. My name is Lucia." She turned slightly to Brannock. "I am going to be your stylist, Brannock Lockhart." She looked to Brea. "Elyria will be yours, Brea Lockhart." She stepped to the side for us to get a better view of the small crowd behind her. "These are the teams that will help prepare you for the parade tonight and your interviews in two weeks."

Brea wanted to hate her. She wanted to sort Lucia in with the crowds she saw outside, salivating for her and Brannock's blood. She wanted to despise her. But she couldn't. Just when Brea decided she was disgusted with the Capitol and everyone in it, someone would pop up to dissolve her hate of the lot. Corbinus. Lucia. Even Elyria seemed harmless.

How was she going to protect Brannock if she remained so confused on who to trust?

Brannock stepped forward and warmly offered his hand. Lucia took it, a soft pink blush rushing to her cheeks. He said kindly, "We are honored to work with you."

When he released her hand, she stepped back and said to the floor tiles, "I'll escort you to the preparation area."

Brannock came to Brea and took her hand again as they followed Lucia. He whispered, "I like them."

Brea was silent. If she couldn't hate them, she wouldn't allow herself to like them. Despite how nice they were, the reason they were there was to market her and Brannock like they were wares in a shop, bringing in more revenue to the Capitol. That was the fact she would have to focus on and allow her heart to harden around.

Doors were opened for them and Brea gripped Brannock's hand when she saw what lay behind them. The expansive room was covered in stations, all filled with various machinery, lights, and tools. An antiseptic smell rushed into her nose and she felt her hands go clammy.

Elyria reappeared. She whispered in the ear of a woman with feather eyelashes as long as Brea's forearm. The woman contemplated her words as she stared at the twins, then asked, "Were you thinking surgery?"

Brea's blood froze.

Elyria turned to the twins and assessed their faces and bodies for a moment. "No. Genetics took care of everything for us."

This seemed to remind Elyria of something important because she gasped, "Oh!" and grabbed Lucia, taking her along with her back down the hallway they had come from as she chattered away. Brea tried to catch what she was saying, but the echos in the large room made her words indecipherable.

The prep team stayed behind and were approached by a group of people, all adorned in plastic aprons and gloves. Brea felt as if she had stepped into a butchery.

She wasn't far off. After the hours of yanking, plucking, stripping, poking, and trimming, Brea could sympathize with any pig or cow that found itself being butchered. Despite being clean and well-groomed, the prep team and the helpers seemed to have a lot of work to do on her. She learned that her prep team was made up of the woman with the feather eyelashes named Saffra, a man with magenta spiked hair named Gillette, and a bald, blue-skinned person she couldn't distinguish the gender of. The blue person hadn't introduced themself like the other two, so Brea was left to wonder.

All while they worked on Brea, the three chattered about Capitol matters to one another over her, discussing what they were going to wear to the parade that night and what fashion trends they saw arising and falling. Brea gritted her teeth to the point of fearing shattering them, but never once did she cry out in pain from the procedures or irritation at their shallow conversations.

Brannock, on the other hand, sounded like an angry bear on the other side of the curtain that separated them. He would emit a groaning growl every few minutes, often after the sound of something being ripped away. Brea conjured up the image of a shaved bear and chuckled to herself, quickly silenced by the pain of hair being removed from her own body by a sticky paper.

"What are you laughing at?" He asked her tersely, after a chuckle had slipped out.

She grinned. "I think they've found hair in places I didn't even know grew it."

Brannock made a gagging sound. "Don't tell me stuff like that, Brea."

The prep team paused their conversation and smiled knowingly at one another. The bald, blue person blinked at Brea with all-black eyes, which she hoped were just contacts, and asked, "He's a bit squeamish, isn't he?" Their voice revealed no indication of gender either. She decided she would just refer to them as Blue.

Brea laughed and turned to the helper brushing her hair. She teased, saying loud enough to ensure Brannock heard her, "Everyone acts so surprised by that. He may be bigger than me, but his pain tolerance is practically non-existent."

The helper looked up, realizing the Brea was addressing her. She nervously glanced at the prep team, then stared down at Brea's hair and continued brushing.

Gillette said, as he applied another strip of paper to her arm, "Don't talk to them. They have a job to do."

She wanted to object, but then she realized who the helper was and why she didn't speak for herself. She was an Avox, a criminal who had their tongue cut out and was condemned to a lifetime sentence of serving Capitol citizens. Brea had heard of them back home, but never thought of meeting one up close. The way they were described in District 2 was a picture of someone dirty, grisly, and mean, but none of those things could describe the young girl standing in front of her. Brea wondered what she could have possibly done to deserve the punishment given to her. Brea's face hardened as she fixated on a ceiling tile, settling into an angry silence.

Conversation began a few minutes after an uncomfortable silence had settled in. They began talking about the new Head Gamemaker and debated on whether they thought he would do better than his predecessor.

"I mean", Saffra argued, "what kind of name is Ambrose Crow anyway? Doesn't sound like the name of someone with the makings of a Head Gamemaker to me."


	28. Chapter 28

Brea asked immediately, "Ambrose Crow? That's the new Head Gamemaker?" Her father's voice rung in her head. "Find Ambrose Crow. He'll tell you what you need to know."

The prep team stopped what they were doing and stared at her. Brea even heard Brannock's prep team halt through the curtain.

"Yes," Gillette said slowly. "Do you know him?"

Brea hoped the heat warming her cheeks didn't show. She was supposed to lie still and silent, not engage in her prep team's conversations and be interested in the going-ons in the Capitol. She stated, with an attempt at nonchalance, "I think my father mentioned him once."

Brea watched shoulders relax and she resisted following suit. "Ah. That makes sense." He turned to Blue across the table and whispered, "Her father is a victor." Then, his face lit up. "See? Word of him has even spread to District 2. That has to say something about Crow's reputation."

Brea was left to her thoughts as the debate continued. Besides the tributes, he and the other Gamemakers were the hottest topic in the Capitol. Everyone would want to speak to him, take pictures with him, shake his hand. How was she going to be able to get a few minutes alone with one of the most popular people in Panem? Could she even trust that her father was telling the truth or was it just a delusion? Would this Ambrose Crow even help her if she asked?

"He'll tell you what you need to know." What would he tell her? The design of the arena? Gamemakers' livelihoods depended on the shock and awe of the audience, so they were mum when it came to giving hints about the arena's design. Any loss in public approval could mean their replacement. Perhaps there was a secret to the arena that could save Brannock. Whatever he might tell her, for Brannock, she would have to at least try.

When they were finished, the prep team admired their work as they led her to another room. They rubbed strands of her hair between their fingers and traced their fingertips over her skin, gasping and cooing at their handiwork. As Brea walked past several mirrors, she saw that they had succeeded in removing anything that distinguished her as herself. Her nails were shaped, body hair removed, scars erased, and skin so supple, it felt new. She was a blank canvas for Elyria to create her next masterpiece on.

Though surgical enhancements were apparently unnecessary, Brea still wondered if she would be forced to be tattooed or dyed. It wasn't long before she got her answer.

Elyria burst into the room, as seemed to be her fashion, and began hanging sketches on the walls. Brea waited for her to explain, but Elyria was apparently still in her head, organizing her thoughts as she arranged the sketches. After a few minutes of muttering to herself and balling up paper, then smoothing them out, hanging, then ripping them off the wall, Elyria stood back and gestured to the wall with a flourish. "Ta da!"

Brea stepped forward and examined the images. It took a few moments, but she began to make sense of the scribbles and sketches. "Statues."

"Oh! Yes! Isn't it marvelous?"

Brea eyed a paper that had different concept designs for the costumes, ranging from armor to nothing at all. When her eyes fell on a paper full of paint swatches of different stone patterns, tears welled up in her eyes. Her fingertips grazed a marble swatch as she whispered hoarsely, "It makes me think of home."

Elyria launched herself at Brea again, squeezing her and squealing, "Oh! You have no idea how much I was dying to hear you say so!" She grasped Brea's wrist as she faced the wall of sketches. "I cannot believe that it hasn't been done before! Stone. Masonry. Statues. It's so rudimentary, yet so exquisite." She turned back to Brea and gripped her hands as she took a step back to admire her. A concerned frown rested on her face for a moment, as if she was struggling to put her imaginings onto Brea. Then, an expression of realization crossed her face and the smile returned.

"Oh! I need to see what I'm working with here." She tugged on the thin paper gown. "I need this off please."

Brea did as she was told. The room was chilly already, but being under the scrutinizing gaze of Elyria made Brea shiver all the more. It wasn't an unkind or lingering stare, but similar to the way Brea had seen Tip's father inspect a piece of stone before he began carving away at it. Still, she wanted to hide herself, but knew Elyria would be done sooner if she didn't. So, she stood stiffly, staring at the clock on the wall as she counted the seconds away. Elyria began a process of circling her, then make notes in her notebook, lift an arm or tilt Brea's chin, lower it, then write more notes.

At one point, she stopped and said, "You're standing as if you're bracing yourself for a fight." She cocked her head to the side, then continued. "I can't decide if that's how I want to envision you or not."

Brea weighed how she should respond. Finally, she answered flatly, "I am getting ready to fight, Elyria. In the arena."

"Yes", she trailed off, slowly circling her, "but you aren't standing as if you intend to win. It's the posture of a last stand."

Brea stared at her stylist, surprised and slightly embarrassed that she was able to read all of this just from her posture. She subconsciously straightened her back more.

"See!" Elyria traced her hands along Brea's back. "This is the posture of a cornered animal. An attempt at intimidation."

Brea glared at Elyria, wanting to punch her but also run out of the room. She inhaled, then replied, "How should I stand then?"

Elyria met her eyes. "Like everyone in that crowd is in the arena and are coming after your brother. Like it will either be him or them."

Brea didn't have to imagine hard to visualize that. She closed her eyes and saw the faces she had seen outside the train. Only this time, they were surrounding her in the arena. Weapons raised, eyes fixed on her. She could feel Brannock's heavy breathing on the back of her neck. He was scared. He wanted to live. She would grant him his wish.

"Oh."

Elyria's quiet gasp awoke Brea from her vision. Tears were brimming in her eyes and her hands were clutched in front of her, as if pleading for more.

Brea shook her head, shocked at the reaction. "I'm sorry-"

Elyria walked up and clasped Brea's hands again. "My dear, do not apologize. It was everything I could have hoped for." She closed her eyes. "Oh. I am getting chills just thinking about how it will look tonight."

Elyria's eyes snapped open. She whirled around the room, as she collected her notebook and her papers off the wall. As she got to the one with the stone swatches, she paused. She stooped down to grab the paper gown, then handed it and the swatches to Brea. Their eyes met, then she rushed out of the room without another word.

A minute passed before Gillette came back into the room and said, "All right. It's time to make you the talk of Panem."

Brea gripped the folded paper in her hand and followed him out.


End file.
